


Lost Boys (Not Ready To Be Found)

by kittpurrson



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Bisexual Vilde, Canon typical drug and alcohol use, Even POV, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:15:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9590879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson
Summary: Even is a disillusioned media studies student who wishes he hadn't screwed up his film school applications. Isak is a prickly bioscience student who figured leaving his mother's house for UiO would magically fix all of his problems.A college AU, wherein Isak and Even meet later than they were destined to, but still save each other right back.





	1. sleep is the cousin of death

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. So. This is my first fic in literally years, and I have to say thank you to cuteandtwisted for encouraging me to post it. This fandom has made me so happy, these last few months, and I just wanted to contribute something of my own.
> 
> This is dedicated to the amazing Henrik Holm, whose portrayal of mental illness touched me in ways I couldn't even begin to express to him. Thanks, babe.
> 
> ETA: Yes, this fic is now finished! Omg! If you like it, please come find me on tumblr at [towonderland72](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/). Let's yell about Sesong 4 together?

“Fuck. What the fuck?”

 

Even awakens to the sound of the guy from last night stumbling around his room in the darkness, and immediately wants to murder him. Everything hurts. His head is pounding, and even the light from the guy's phone-doubling as a torch while he looks for his clothes-is too bright. 

 

“Shit.”

 

Shit is right. Even barely remembers picking up last night—bar that part where he thinks they made out in the elevator. He squints. He can just about make out the pale skin of the guy’s back before it’s covered by a white t-shirt, and a hint of curls before they’re covered by a red beanie.

                                                                                                                                                               

Even turns to the clock on his nightstand. It’s not even 5:00 yet.

 

Fuck, he feels like shit. It’s too early to be awake, especially after a party like last night’s. Magnus, the eternally-cheerful guy Even shares a kitchen and bathroom with, had dragged him to a party on the 14th floor in some guy’s giant-ass one bed. It had been packed to the brim with what seemed like half the students from Grünerløkka student house, but Even hadn’t had the heart to say no to Magnus’s sad eyes. It’d backfired for his kitchen-mate—Magnus’s crush hadn’t turned up, and her friends, for whatever reason, had gone without her.

 

But her friends had included this guy, now loudly stubbing his toe on Even’s desk chair. The night before comes back to Even bit by bit as he studies the guy, his eyes adjusting to the dark. The guy, he remembers, had looked as done with the party as Even himself had felt, and had been easily coaxed outside to smoke up. And now he’s in Even’s little grey Grünerløkka bedroom—honestly, he’s still not used to the whole converted silo aesthetic—looking rumpled and hot and infuriating as hell. Even’s too tired to remember his name right now, though—I-something. Ivar? Ilias?

 

The guy curses again, and Even groans, trying to burrow further into his pillows.

 

“What are you doing?” He finally says, his voice hoarse. “Come back to bed.”

 

He’s too tired and gross to deal with this shit right now. All he wants is for the dude to get back into bed or get the hell out so Even can sleep. It’s been too long since he slept properly, and last night is the first time he’s managed to drop off that fast in weeks—since he got to UiO, if he’s being honest with himself. Like, the orgasm probably helped, but still. He’s kind of mad to have been woken up.

 

The guy—Isak. Even remembers his name, suddenly. It’s Isak. The guy turns to look at him like a deer in headlights, and Even mentally congratulates himself for a second, because  _damn_. It wasn’t just the weed and beer talking last night, then. This guy is exactly Even’s type. He almost wishes they’d been sober and awake enough to do more than sloppily jerk each other off and fall asleep.

 

Isak doesn’t look like he’s having the same thoughts.

 

“Fuck you,” he mumbles, looking away from Even. He looks mortified—worse than mortified, really, something raw that Even can’t really place—fumbling around for his clothes in the mess of Even’s room. He pulls a shoe from under Even’s bed, and shoves it on, hopping around until he finds the other. He shoots even a wary look from under his ridiculous long eyelashes.

 

Even groans again.

 

Well, if that’s how he’s going to be, Even is going back to sleep. The kid can go fuck himself. Even turns over, burying his head under a pillow and getting comfortable. It smells like the boy’s shampoo, but it’s cool against his face. He doesn’t want any part in whatever’s going on with this guy. Doesn’t even want to know what expression is twisting that pretty mouth.

 

Even doesn’t say anything else. The last thing he hears before he falls back to sleep is the door quietly clicking shut.

 

\--

 

“And I thought we were so close! But she just didn’t come. I don’t know, man, maybe she doesn’t wanna hook up with me.”

 

Four days later, Even drags himself into the shared kitchen to find Magnus haphazardly stirring some eggs in a pan. Like everything Magnus cooks, they look disgusting. Magnus’s buddy with the eyebrows is there with him, leaning against the cluttered countertop. It’s a Wednesday, Even realizes, because on Wednesdays Magnus doesn’t have class until the afternoon. The clock says it’s gone 10:30.

 

“Didn’t she say she was busy with her group stuff, though?” Eyebrows is making a valiant effort to cheer Magnus up, Even notices. He should know this guy’s name by now, too, but he’s still shaking off the last couple of days, and his brain feels like mush.

 

The party had been a bad idea, really. The next day, he’d woken several times to stare at the ceiling, and when he’d finally left his bed the following afternoon, he’d opened his desk drawer and stared at his warning list from Dr. Iver for a good twenty minutes before checking off:

 

_x I have not eaten three balanced meals in the last day_

_x I no longer want to be around people._

_x I have a headache_

_x I had a nap during the day_

_x The world doesn’t feel real_

 

Others—‘I am craving chocolate’ and ‘I have forgotten to pay a bill / do a piece of work’—he left alone, but the five he had checked were red flags enough.

 

When his mamma had called to check in, he’d picked up, and talked his last few days through with her, letting her coach him through making stew in the crock pot she’d bought him for such an occasion. He’d been out for a bike ride with his old school buddy Mikael, who knew Even wouldn’t be in the mood to talk much, and then he’d checked in with Dr. Iver and tried extra hard to get a good night’s sleep, even playing the rain sounds on his phone that he’d scoffed at when he first downloaded them. He’d ended up falling asleep to Kissing You, from the _Romeo + Juliet_ soundtrack, and when he’d woken up again, he’d felt like maybe the worst had past.

 

Being bipolar is something Even is slowly getting used to. Sometimes it’s slower than he’d like, and he knows it’s still far from being under his control. But he’s better now, at least, at spotting the warning signs early and trying to take care of himself. Sometimes even at heading an episode off at the pass.

 

“Hey, Magnus,” he says, and the guys both turn to look at him. Magnus’s face breaks out into a grin.

 

“Even!” he says, and comes over to wrap him in a bear hug. Even smiles over his shoulder at eyebrow guy, but hugs Magnus back. The guy definitely isn’t stingy with his affection.

 

“How’s it going, bro?” Magnus asks as he pulls away. He takes in Even’s appearance, then his mouth twists. “Bad few days?”

 

Even shrugs. He’s glad, mostly, that Magnus is the guy he gets to share his kitchen with. Magnus’s mother is bipolar, too, and he’s one of the few people who knows who has never treated Even like it’s a problem.

 

“Better now,” Even reassures him, and Magnus visibly brightens.

 

“Cool, bro! You want eggs?”

 

His buddy barks out a laugh at that, and Even has to laugh with them. The eggs are now looking decidedly charred, and Even can’t imagine they’re even close to edible. Magnus turns his attention back to the pan, then swears under his breath as he scrapes at the black coating. Even tries not to laugh as he saunters over to the fridge.

 

“I was actually gonna make up some of my special recipe,” he says, pulling his egg carton from the shelf. “Some omelette, maybe, or some scrambled eggs with sour cream. You can both have some if you like.”

 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Magnus’s friend says, and even Magnus shoots Even a grateful look, before turning back to the guy with a mock-hurt expression.

 

“The fuck, Jonas, you won’t eat my eggs and now you’re freeloading off of Even?”

 

Jonas! That’s it. Eyebrow guy, AKA Jonas-from-Nissen. Even remembers now: Magnus had been at school with Jonas and Mahdi, the guy Jonas shares with. Even remembers them talking about it, once, because he’d nearly transferred to Nissen for his third year after the revue disaster at Bakka.

 

In the end, he’d finished out his third year at Berg, instead, which had been depressing in and of itself. It’d taken six months of working and six months of traveling after for him to even feel a bit ready to move out of his parent’s place and start at the university.

 

“Well, Isak’s clearly not coming any time soon, so… yeah, man. I’m starving,” Jonas says, and Even stops stirring for a second.

 

“Isak from the party on Friday?” he says. What are the chances?

 

Like, he almost regrets that he’d met the guy feeling like he did. In a better mindset, Even might have been able to enjoy those cupid’s bow lips a little more, or convince him to stay for another round.

 

“Yeah,” Magnus says. “He shares with that guy Eskild, who’s like the gay best friend of Noora. Remember? Who shares with—”

 

“Vilde,” Jona intones. “Mags, sometimes I think you bring her up just to bring her up.”

 

“Uh, I do not!”

 

Even can’t help but laugh at the caught look on Magnus’s face. Even and Jonas exchange looks, and then Even takes pity on his friend.

 

“It’s chill, Magnus. Chill. You were saying about Isak? He was the guy with the red beanie, right?”

 

“ _My_ beanie,” Jonas says, raising those eyebrows in mock exasperation. “Yeah, he went to Nissen with us too. What about him?”

 

Even remembers the look on Isak’s face as he searched for his clothes. He should probably be discreet, right?

 

“No reason. He’s just fucking cute.”

 

Jonas explodes with laughter at that, and Magnus whirls around. “What the fuck?” he exclaims, grinning and shaking his head.

 

“It’s so fucking unfair. Even gay guys find Isak attractive!”

 

“Bisexual,” Even says automatically. Then he smiles. “Why is that bad?”

 

“It’s not bad,” Jonas says, laughing too. “It’s just that he’s so smooth. He gets any chick he wants and half the time he doesn’t even really seem to try. It makes no sense.”

 

“I don’t know how he does it,” Magnus marvels. “Fucking player.”

 

So, either Isak’s friends don’t know Isak hooks up with dudes, or they’re avoiding talking about it. That makes sense, Even thinks. And it’s fine. It’s not like he’s dying for a repeat fuck with a closet case anyway, even if the guy’s curls had looked adorable under his hat. He was kind of a prickly dude, even after he’d loosened up from the weed and given Even those fuck-me eyes under his long lashes.

 

“It’s because he’s not desperate like you, Mags,” Jonas laughs.

 

It’s clearly an old argument, and Magnus throws his hands up in the air. Even can’t help laughing too as he turns back to the eggs.

 

“Desperate! How am I fucking desperate?”

 

\--

 

That night, Even lies in bed with his laptop, scrolling through his film library. He’s supposed to be working on an essay, but it’s not due until the end of the week, and he’s putting it off.

 

He wonders, sometimes, if he should have gone to film school after all, instead of listening to his parents. Instead, he’s getting a degree in Media Studies, and is about five weeks into regretting not signing up for the film club at the start of the academic year. He could still join, probably, but they’ve been working on their project for more than a month now, and he’d kinda have to shoehorn himself in. At the time, joining had seemed like too much of a commitment, too overwhelming.

 

At least, he thinks, he still has his precious film collection to mine for ideas. He’s sure that this’ll be the year he finishes writing his big start—his first feature length screenplay. The idea’s in there somewhere, deep down, probably, and just needs coaxing out.

 

It’ll be a big epic romance, that much he knows, because Even is a sucker for beautiful love stories, as long as they’re not his own. He’s been single for a while now, but he still loves watching that moment that a couple succumbs to the inevitable, or one runs to the other, calls up to a window from the street.

 

Just as his hand hovers over _Strictly Ballroom_ , his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out.

His Instagram has a notification, which is weird, because he hardly ever uses the thing. One of his friends at Berg set it up for him and he’d barely posted ten pictures since. Out of curiosity, he clicks the icon, and goes to his notifications.

 

_Isakyaki started following you._

What? A quick glance at the profile reveals that it is, in fact, the angel-haired boy from Nissen. Huh.

 

_A Japanese side-dish._

He smiles, then presses the button to follow Isak back. For a moment, nothing happens while Even scrolls through Isak’s feed—full of pictures of Magnus and Jonas, and even one adorable clip of him rapping. He’s not half bad… and he’s definitely fucking cute, Even was right about that.

 

He’s actually just debating liking one of Isak’s recent photos as a message comes through.

_Are yu awake?????_

He grins. This night looks like it might be taking a decidedly less romantic turn. Cute Isak, sliding into his DMs like a motherfucker. Score one for Even.

 

 _I don’t sleep cuz sleep is the cousin of death,_ he types.

He doubts Isak’ll get the reference, but he grins as he sends it, waiting for the other boy to respond.

 

The phone buzzes again.

 

Even looks down at his screen, and then freezes.

 

Isak isn’t propositioning him. Like, the opposite, in fact.

 

 _What the fukc are you telling myy friends abouthb me,_ Isak’s message says, without even a question mark. _Stay the fduck away from me!!_

 

Even checks the clock. It’s 20:25, which is way too early for Isak to be as drunk as his typing suggests… isn’t it? He hadn’t seemed like the type of guy to go on weeknight benders, from what Even remembers of him. Granted, they’d mostly talked about hip-hop and smoked weed before making out in the elevator, but still.

 

 _Are you okay?_ Even types, feeling a spark of worry building in his stomach. The response is immediate.

 

_Lost teh guyys somewere._

Shit, Even thinks. Another message comes through before he can respond.

_Fuck uou I don feelk so goopd_

 

Jesus. What is this kid doing? Out drunk god knows where on a weeknight, all alone, sending a practical stranger aggressive DMs on Instagram. That does _not_ sound like a good time.

 

_I need_

 

Even waits, but Isak doesn’t finish his thought. Maybe Even should call Magnus. But he was supposed to be _with_ Magnus, wasn’t he? And if Isak has lost him, that probably means his phone is off.  

 

He tries Magnus anyway. The boy doesn’t pick up… which is fucking typical of Magnus, but the last thing Even needs right now.

 

Even bites his lip. This shouldn’t be bothering him as much as it is.

 

 _Where are you?_ He types. He hesitates, but he sends it anyway. He’s NOT considering charging out into the cold for some cute boy he fucked once. That would be ridiculous.

 

Wouldn’t it?

 

It would, Even thinks. Except that he’s already shrugging on a hoodie. Just in case. And then five minutes pass, and Isak still hasn’t responded. It makes Even nervous, even though he tells himself it shouldn’t.

 

_???_

Even tries again, sending just three question marks over DM. Isak says nothing. Maybe his phone has died, Even thinks. That’s likely enough, and Even himself has done it plenty of times. Except maybe Isak’s in trouble. That’s possible, too. Maybe he’s passed out, or he’s lying in a ditch somewhere as somebody makes off with his stuff…

 

Even’s phone buzzes on his nightstand, and he dives for it. It’s not Isak, though, just a simple _how are you, have a good night <3 _text from his mamma.

 

Seeing her name makes Even realize how agitated he is, hovering by his door and ready to run out.

 

Even takes the hoodie off, and focuses on his breathing. Isak still doesn’t respond.

 

He waits for another twenty minutes, and then Even crawls under the covers, and presses play on _Strictly Ballroom_. His heart doesn’t soar as Scott and Fran kiss at the end, and when the movie is over, he puts his laptop on the floor and screws his eyes shut.

 

Gradually, Even falls into a fitful sleep.

 

Hours later, he sleeps through the notification as Isak finally messages him again. Isakyaki. One word, sent at 01:53.

_please_


	2. careful creature made friends with time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak takes a deep breath, then very quietly mumbles:
> 
> “Are you going to tell them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, and for leaving kudos. As soon as I started getting them I started writing again, and it's already making me feel good and warm and happy :)
> 
> The biggest thank you here has to go to @imminentinertia, who Norway-picked this for me and put up with all of my obsessive research questions. Thanks for reading, and your encouragement.
> 
> <3

-

 

Even hates not getting enough sleep. Hates how the tiredness reminds him of that sluggish feeling of an episode, even when it’s just been a late night or a one-off nightmare causing it.

 

He especially hates it when he wakes up to see Isak’s message to him, the lonely little _please_ followed by… nothing.

 

He lies in bed for a moment, staring at his phone where Isak’s message sits. Should he message him? What if Isak didn’t make it home?

 

Fuck.

 

Well, so what if he didn’t? Even thinks. He isn’t Isak’s friend, or—not anything to him, really. It isn’t up to him to make sure Isak was okay.

 

But he still wants to.

 

He clicks back onto Isak’s profile, hoping to see a new picture from last night. Nothing. He tries Magnus’s page, and then, after sleuthing through his follow list, tries Jonas, then Mahdi.

 

Mahdi’s profile loads, and Even feels himself sag with relief. There, under the words ‘9 hours ago’ is a picture of Isak, sleeping with his head on a kitchen table as the boys crowd around him pulling dumb faces. Even smiles at the caption:

_Sleeping beauty or @isakyaki spot the difference #didntsurvivethepregame #weak_ _#nocathookersforyou_

 

So his friends must have found him, then. Isak must have pregamed the pregame. It doesn’t explain why he messaged Even, of all people, but it’s enough that Even doesn’t have to worry anymore. Isn’t it?

 

He doesn’t think about it again. And he definitely doesn’t make note of the photo location ( _Bjølsen Student Village_ ).

 

 

…

 

He does, however, go into the kitchen and open up his cupboards to find that, yet again, Magnus has been eating his bread. It’s not even annoying at this point, just typical.

 

He has to be at his audiovisual aesthetics lecture at 10:15, so he has time to make something more exciting, but all he really wants to do is drink coffee and shower. One hello-wake-up-it’s-morning coffee. Okay, he can probably handle that. He hasn’t had any other caffeine this week, so it won’t be the end of the world.

 

He turns the radio on while he waits, feeling some of the tension bleed out of him as he bounces around a bit. The music is cheerful, and Even sways his hips back and forth, just listening and plucking grapes from the bowl on the countertop and focusing on the sound and the taste. It’s calming.

 

Morning radio is the fucking best.

 

The water’s nearly done boiling when Magnus ambles into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in disarray. If Magnus were a different guy, Even might even say it looks cute. In a zombie-esque sort of way.

 

“Yes, coffeeeee” Magnus says, slumping down at the table. “Even, bro, coffee.”

 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Even says, pouring the water into the coffee pot and then turning the music down. “Shouldn’t you have gone already?”

 

Magnus makes an alarming sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

 

“Man, you wouldn’t believe what happened last night.”

 

_That’s what you think._

 

“Good story?”

 

Even pours out two coffees, and saunters over to the table. He winces as he puts the cups down, and hot liquid splashes out over his thumb, but Magnus ignores him as he recoils and brings his hand to his mouth.

 

“Yeah, we were at this predrinks over in Bjølsen, you know, at Vilde and Noora’s place, right?”

 

Even raises his eyebrows. “Vilde invited you?”

 

Magnus shakes his head.

 

“Nah, Isak invited us.”

 

…oh?

 

“To Vilde’s place?”

 

Magnus looks confused for a moment, then shakes his head.

 

“No, like, he lives there too. Six of them share the kitchen. Not like our sweet setup.”

 

Even doesn’t know what to say to that, except that he didn’t know Isak lived with Vilde. He supposes that makes their friendship make a little more sense. He only really knows Vilde through Magnus, but she seems kind of a polar opposite to the prickly Isak.

 

“Oh, dude, I’m sorry! Next time I’ll totally invite you!”

 

Even looks up to see a guilty expression on Magnus’s face, which makes him smile. Magnus is a good guy.

 

“It’s chill. I was working anyway.”

 

“Sorry, bro. Anyway, we were at the predrinks, and we were all getting a little drunk, you know… a little flirty.”

 

Even ignores Magnus wiggling his eyebrows. _Flirty?_ Was that before or after Isak passed out at the table?

 

“And I turned around, and Vilde is like full on making out, tongues and everything, with Jonas’s ex-girlfriend!”

 

_What?_

 

“Wait, what?” Even says. “So is she a lesbian, or…?”

 

Magnus groans again.

 

“Shit, that’s a good question.” Magnus says. “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. I just thought it was fucking hot.”

 

_Oh my GOD, Magnus._

 

“So that was it?” Even says. “That was your crazy night?”

 

Magnus shrugs.

 

“Yeah. Some of us ended up smoking in the tub in Isak and Eskild’s bathroom and we never actually made it to a party. Fuck, I’m tired though. You really think she’s a lesbian?”

 

Even shrugs, taking it all in. He doesn’t really want to comment on Vilde’s sexuality. He just—wants to know about Isak.

 

Fuck. He doesn’t want to keep thinking about it. It was one night, and one conversation, but he’s still concerned.

 

 “And Isak was okay?”

 

He can’t help himself.

 

Magnus shrugs again, then pauses.

 

He turns to Even slowly, and then his face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah, why? You know this is the second time you’ve brought him up?”

 

Even could kick himself.

 

“I just… saw something. On Instagram.” He says, hoping Magnus’ll leave it alone.

 

“Okay, Even,” Magnus teases. “Now who’s sounding desperate.”

 

Well, there’s nothing for it. Even throws a tea towel at Magnus’s head and flees from the kitchen.

 

Exit strategy successful.

 

\---

 

At exactly 10:15, Even is sitting in the auditorium, doodling little figures in the margins of his notebook as Sara bustles into the classroom.

 

He doesn’t have anything against his perpetually smiling lecturer—she’s young, cool, and really friendly towards her students… but he doesn’t understand how she can be so excited by such dry subjects. Case in point:

 

“Today we’re going to be looking at the set article on ‘The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling.’”

 

Which Even has not read.

 

He sits through the lecture as best he can, anyway, trying to make himself focus on writing down words and concepts. It’s not even that it’s useless or unhelpful information… except that Even isn’t really interested. His favorite thing about filmmaking has always been the active process of creation—not about sitting around talking about theory. He likes the feeling of being behind a camera, or in the director’s chair, making something happen. Having the story come to life exactly as he plans it, and seeing words he wrote becoming movement and emotion.

 

That’s the magic of filmmaking. Not dry English words in a textbook about how a “ _narrational mode is a historically distinct set of norms of narrational construction and comprehension_.” Which… okay, what the fuck?

 

Even looks back at the article in question.

 

Sara looks out at the class, and repeats the quotation.

 

“We’ve looked at this earlier in this course. Can anyone give me a simpler summary, in Norwegian?”

 

If there was more actual filmmaking involved in this class, Even might actually feel more inspired to join in. As it is, they have just one group project, and Even, having missed a couple of classes early on to meet with his doctor, got stuck with a bunch of slackers who don’t seem all that interested in making something with, like, any artistic merit.

 

One of them had never even seen a Baz Luhrmann film.

 

A girl in front of him answers Sara’s question, and Even tries to copy down what she says… but it doesn’t make it any more exciting. At least the film-watching portion of this class is soon, he tells himself. They’ll be watching _The Graduate_ , so at least that’s something he’s excited to talk about… if the heathens in his class actually appreciate it.

 

The lecture drags on, and Even blinks rapidly as his eyes get heavier and heavier. He’s rescued from his boredom at last, by texts from Magnus.

 

_Hey even the gang from last night were thinking we would go for kebab later_

_U in?_

_Your boy isak will be there ;)_

Even laughs, then turns it into a cough under his breath.

 

_Why not_

_Fuck this is so boring_

_What about your girl Vilde_

 

_ehehehe_

_i need to stop telling you about my dreams_

 

_no kidding_

 

_when are you done today_

 

_seminar ends 1500_

 

_okay_

_so dinner!_

Before Even knows it, he hears the telltale rustling sound of everyone putting their books away. He looks up at the clock, surprised to see that it’s already 12:00.

 

He gets up to leave with everybody else, but just as he nears the front of the room, Sara’s voice rings out.

 

“Even, can you stay behind for a moment?”

 

Shit. Today is just getting better and better. Even turns and makes his way to the front of the room. Was it that obvious that he wasn’t listening? It’s uni. Surely the lecturers are used to that?

 

Some of the dread must show on his face, because Sara smiles reassuringly.

 

“Even, I was just reading your group’s treatment this morning, and I was impressed.”

 

_What?_

 

Oh, the treatment. Even had done practically everything himself and submitted it with only minutes to go, barely remembering to put his group’s names on the page above his outline for their film project.

 

“I think you have a lot of potential. Have you thought about joining Rosebud activities?”

 

“Rosebud?”

 

“The student social club, for the department? We talked about it at the beginning of the course.”

 

Even remembers, vaguely, hearing something about a social club. But the first few weeks had been rough enough, just back from traveling and adjusting to his new routines, new responsibilities, without adding a new club with lots of new people. He’d met with Dr. Iver for the first time, and been pretty focused on coming up with strategies to manage his mental health.

 

Iver had encouraged him to make friends, and join things, but Even had befriended Magnus and been to a few parties and figured that was going okay. He’d pushed his limits a little, hooked up with a few people, maybe smoked and drunk too often, and then he’d scared himself and Magnus had spent a few days thinking he was a serious drug addict because he was so secretive about taking his pills. They’d ended up having a huge heart to heart, and Even had been so relieved when Magnus told him about his mother.

 

Everything is out in the open, now and Even feels like he’s come up for air, is treading water. He’s seeing Iver regularly, and he’s trying hard to stay present and level. It’s hard, though. Somedays Even can’t tell if it’s a warning sign of an episode, or if he’s just regular-boy unhappy. If he’s about to be manic or he’s just normal-person excited, or infatuated, or inspired.

 

It’s hard because sometimes he gets lonely, just thinking about being around new people and trying to connect with them.

 

Maybe it would be a good idea to try, though.

 

“Uh, maybe,” Even says. “I’m not sure I have time right now.”

 

She looks at him kindly, and then shrugs.

 

“If you change your mind,” she says. “It’ll be there.”

 

 

 

\-----

It turns out the plan is to meet up at Bjølsen, walk to a kebab place, then take some beers back to the student village. Even has no idea how Magnus is planning on drinking, considering this morning’s hangover.

For a moment, Even feels like he’s intruding, but then Vilde greets him with a beaming smile.

 

“Even! How nice that you decided to come!”

 

Even smiles back, because Vilde’s happiness is weirdly infectious.

 

“It’s nice to see you, Vilde.”

 

She looks around at the assembled group, and claps her hands together. Even recognizes most of them—Isak, Magnus, Mahdi, Noora—but smiles when Vilde introduces him to Eskild, Eva and Chris, who also live there too, and to Sana and Kasper, who don’t. Before Even knows it, the group are setting out into the cold, the 12 of them splitting off into smaller groups as they walk. Magnus walks at Even’s side, chattering about the finale of some TV show—Westworld?—that Even must have missed the beginning of during his time away.

 

Even just lets him talk, pleased to let the sound of Magnus’s happy babbling wash over him.

 

It’s starting to get dark out, and the air is crisper than it should be, this time of year. Even kind of loves it. He missed Oslo, when he was travelling—missed the smell of the breeze, the sound of people talking Norwegian. Missed weekends with Mikael and Sonja in the hipster cafes in Grünerløkka…

 

Not that now is the time to be thinking about Sonja.

 

Even takes a deep breath, just taking in the feel of the Oslo evening.

 

Up ahead, Vilde loops her arm through Eva’s, and Even watches Magnus watch her. He’s soon pulled away, though, by Mahdi and Jonas, whose shenanigans have Sana rolling her eyes. Kasper and Chris seem completely wrapped up in each other, and Eskild and Noora seem to be busy talking about what to bring back for a friend of theirs.

That only leaves one.

 

Even notices Isak hanging back from the group, texting, and barely thinks about it before he shortens his own strides to fall back with him.

 

“Hey,” he says. Isak’s wearing a beanie hat again, a greasy curl of his hair sticking out from underneath it. So help him, Even is kind of into it.

 

Isak peers up at him from under those eyelashes of his, his face carefully expressionless.

 

“Hey.”

 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Even says. “After your message.”

 

Isak swallows. “I’m always okay.”

They walk in silence for a few moments, with Even stealing looks at him. Even starts to wonder if he shouldn’t have hung back to talk to him. Maybe he read Isak wrong?

 

But Isak takes a deep breath, then very quietly mumbles:

 

“Are you going to tell them?”

 

Well. Perhaps Even should have expected that question.

 

“What am I going to tell who?” He tries to play it cool, like it’s not a big deal. If only to stop Isak from bolting, because he’s doing a very good impression of a spooked horse.

 

“Asshole. You know what I mean.”

 

“I really don’t, Isak. What could I possibly have to tell your friends?” He’s teasing a little now. Perhaps he’s pushing it, because Isak is quiet for a long moment.

 

“Are you going to tell them we… you know.”

 

“Fucked?” Even says, casually.

 

Isak practically hisses, grabbing him by the arm.

 

“Fucking hell, keep your voice down.”

 

Even laughs. He can’t help it—Isak is kind of cute when he’s mad.

 

“It’s what you meant, though?”

 

“Hooked up. Not _fucked_.”

 

Even tries not to get annoyed, because he knows Isak is probably genuinely shit scared right now. “I don’t make a habit of telling people other people’s business.”

 

“Okay,” Isak says. He exhales slowly. Looking away, then sneaking glances back at Even.

 

It’s all a little too much for Even. This is why he hasn’t been with anyone since Sonja. The drama, the accusations. He doesn’t want to spend all night second-guessing what he said and feeling weird and angry and hurt.

 

“Isak, we literally fucked once, and I barely remember it. If anyone’s making it weird, it’s you.”

 

At that, Isak looks like he’s seen red. Even doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so cute look so frustrated. Isak opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again.

 

Even waits.

 

“Hooked up,” Isak finally says. “But you’re right. It was just a hook up.”

 

Even doesn’t get why he’s making the distinction, but if Isak’s set on it, there’s no point arguing about it. He’s fucking cute, though.

 

“Right,” he says. “Unless you want a second go.”

 

Isak’s mouth drops open, and Even can’t help smiling at the sight of him all flustered. Gotcha. He didn’t even really mean it, to be honest—surely no fuck is worth the baggage that this boy seems to be carrying—but wow, Isak is so beautifully reactive.

 

Before Isak can say anything, Magnus’s voice calls back down the street towards them. Even looks ahead, only to realize that the group has long gone ahead without them. Magnus alone stands at the street corner, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

“Hey, guys! Are you coming or what?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, you can find me on tumblr at [towonderland72](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/).


	3. home is just a room full of my safest sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilde clears her throat, and Even turns back to her.
> 
> “I don’t mean to be rude… but are you gay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh! Guys, your comments mean the world to me. I love hearing what you think.
> 
> I basically lost several hours of my life yesterday to Troy Sivan's 'Talk Me Down', so you should go listen to it now. And maybe watch the whole Blue Neighbourhood trio. Oy.
> 
> Thanks to imminentinertia for being the speediest reader in the universe.

 

-

 

Back at Bjølsen, the atmosphere is light. After food, Kasper and Chris had gone back to their place to fuck, and Noora and Eskild had left to hang out with a friend who doesn’t go to UiO. Everyone else crowds into a common area, sprawled over the floor and sofas as they listen to music playing through Eva’s speakers.

 

It’s fun—nothing wild, just everybody sitting around with beers and talking about their lives. Even has a few, and nobody says anything. Partly because nobody knows to say anything, but it’s still a new enough feeling that Even notices the freedom to make his own choices. 

 

Isak hasn’t tried to be alone with Even, but every time he looks up, he catches him looking away.

 

Even almost feels guilty about it.

 

They’ve just started listening to some song through Mahdi’s phone that Magnus proclaims is the ultimate song in the world right now, when Vilde suddenly turns to point at Isak, who sits on the floor next to Jonas and Eva.

 

“ _Isakyaki!_ Is it true that you rap?”

 

_Rap?_

 

Jonas snorts. Isak elbows him, only managing to look fondly annoyed, then turns to Vilde.

 

Even can’t picture it. He looks at Isak—at his black t-shirt reading ‘I’M ILLUMINATI’, his hoodie, his snapback—but, no. He thinks about what he remembers of that night they met, and can’t picture the boy who didn’t know how to pronounce _Nas_ spitting bars.

 

“You’ve heard about me rapping?”

 

Vilde nods enthusiastically. The rest of the room are exchanging skeptical looks, except for the Nissen boys, who look like Christmas has come early.

 

“I am a rapping superstar,” Isak says, and now Even can’t help but laugh.

 

Isak turns to him, a challenge in his eyes.

 

“You don’t believe me? I’ll have you know I have _sick flow._ ” He says in English, full on hamming up the delivery. “ _Kanye West eat your heart out_.”

 

He should sound like a dick, but it’s weirdly just… really endearing. Even has to hear this.

 

“Do it, then—”

 

“Wait,” Eva interrupts. “Oh my God. I have a better idea.”

 

She yanks Mahdi’s phone from the speakers—prompting a loud ‘hey!’ from Magnus—and shoves her phone in. They all wait in silence as she scrolls through her library, then suddenly a pounding beat fills the room. The Nissen boys groan together, and Isak turns to Eva in horror.

 

“Fuck, why do you still have this?”

 

Eva sticks her tongue out at him.

 

“Just because I left doesn’t mean I dropped all of my _secret blackmail material_ on you.”

 

Even’s busy listening to the music, and—shit, he can tell right away that this is going to be hilarious.

 

“Is this _russ music_?” He says, injecting as much disdain as possible into the words.

 

“Wait,” Vilde says now. “Is this—”

 

Whatever she’s about to say is drowned out by the laughter in the room as the lyrics start hitting them.

 

“We are the [penetrators](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8AatcxX8kw) _?_ ” Even says. “What the fuck?”

 

“Shh, shh,” Eva says. “This is the best part.”

 

Loud sex noises follow immediately after as the beat breaks down, and Eva blushes as Vilde giggles at Even’s side. “No, wait.”

 

And then suddenly there’s rapping. _Isak_ rapping.

 

Oh my God.

 

Mahdi and Magnus start cheering, and Jonas covers his face, shaking with laughter.

 

They get to the end of the song and Even can’t help himself—he claps.

 

“Holy fuck,” he says to Isak. “What the fuck was that?”

 

Isak blushes, but looks right back at Even.

 

“They wanted someone to rap one their russ track, so…”

 

“No, I mean the lyrics. Did you _write_ those?”

 

Isak laughs, like he’s offended Even even asked.

 

“God, no!”

 

“Bro, I still don’t know how you said those things with a straight face,” Jonas interjects.

 

“Please tell me your dad never heard that? _He fucks mamma with a semi_ , shit,” Even quotes, mimicking Isak’s delivery.

 

Isak rolls his eyes, still laughing. Eva blows him a kiss across the room, then turns to Even.

 

“You’re laughing but Isak was like, _so famous_.”

 

Madhi doesn’t even look up from his phone.

 

“The dancer chicks were all over him,” he says wistfully. Isak flips him off.

 

“I mean it,” Eva says. “I transferred to Foss and even people there had heard it.”

 

Isak is seriously blushing now. Even watches him lick his lips and notices how quietly pleased he seems by the whole thing. Even could stop looking, but he kind of doesn’t want to. Isak looks content, and it makes Even feel a little bit warm inside.

 

Shit.

 

Isak licks his lips, and Even tracks the motion of his tongue. He’s taken the hat off now, and his hair looks ridiculous and fluffy where he’s tried to stop it sticking to his head. Even wants to put his hands in it.

 

“Okay, guys. We can stop talking about it now.” Isak waves his friends off, starting off a whole new round of teasing. Even looks at his hands, then forces himself to turn to Mahdi beside him.

 

He listens for a while as Mahdi talks about his girlfriend, who’s studying in Copenhagen. Nobody asks him about his own relationship status, and he’s kind of grateful for it.

 

The rest of the night is fun, and Even does manage to stop looking at Isak.

 

But the warm feeling doesn’t go away.

 

-

 

For the next week, Magnus invites Even every time the group hangs out, until finally Vilde proposes a group chat and Even finds himself pleased as his phone pings incessantly with Magnus and Chris shooting memes back and forth. Every now and then Sana drops into the chat with some observation that has everyone in stitches, and Eskild seems to delight in changing the group name to something ridiculous before Noora catches it and changes it back.

 

It’s currently _JUSTIN BIEBER FAN CLUB_ and three peach emojis.

 

Things with Even’s new friends are going pretty well, he thinks. They’re a pretty chill group—or there hasn’t been any drama yet, at least. And Even would very much like to keep it that way, which is why—despite some kind of… prolonged… eye contact with Isak, he’s resisted the urge to get the other boy alone again.

 

Isak, for his part, hasn’t brought up Even’s comment about a second round. He has, however, liked every single Instagram photo Even posted while he was travelling, except the one of him and Sonja.

 

 _Which isn’t weird at all_ , he thinks, as he walks through the streets. It’s not like it was even a romantic photo—just a selfie of them on the Bridge of Sighs, squinting against the sunlight.

 

Almost as if he’s conjured her up, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

He presses ‘ignore’ as soon as he sees her name on the screen.

 

Sonja has been trying to get in touch nonstop for the last three days.

 

Just little things like _hey, how are you?_ , and _saw this and thought of you_ , and _let’s meet up_ —but it makes Even’s stomach flip uncomfortably.

 

The messages aren’t really surprising, because he’s been back in Oslo for a couple of months now, and she follows his Instagram, too. He hadn’t told her when he came back, though, and she doesn’t know where he lives. As much as he still cares about Sonja, he isn’t sure he wants her to know.

 

He wants to close that door for a while. _Needs to_ , maybe.

 

He’d been with her for four years before he finally ended things, during that last year of school. It had been hard. She’d gotten so controlling, like if she’d just managed every second of his life so he didn’t ‘mess up’ by having a drink or a smoke or a late night, she could stop him from having an episode again. He had stayed with her because he knew it came from a place of love, but it’d worn him down, and when he finally did have another episode, he’d said some things to her he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to come back from them.

 

He hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to take them back, once he was feeling clear again. So he’d ended things instead, gotten a job making coffee, and two months later had promised Sonja that they could try being friends.

 

That hadn’t worked either.

 

It was too easy to fall back into old habits, and it had made Even miserable. They fought and Sonja cried and Even just… struggled. He’d finally gone travelling with Mathias and Trond, two guys from Berg, and when Sonja had taken a long weekend to hang out with them in Venice, he’d known that they couldn’t be friends. That they just can’t be friends now, after everything.

 

Of course, he shouldn’t have slept with her, that last time. But he thought he’d been clear, after, that it was done.

 

Sonja won’t give it up.

 

As he walks through the familiar streets towards his parents’ apartment, he almost expects to see her. He’s walked around here holding her hand so many times. She’s chased him around them while he was manic, and kissed him on that bench as he sat out in the cold feeling helpless.

 

Even approaches his parents’ building, and for a second hates that even home, the place that should feel safe and warm and _his_ , is full of memories of her.

 

Then his mamma opens the door, pleased surprise painting her face as she takes him in, and he lets her wrap him up in his arms. She smells the same as always, like perfume and paper, and Even breathes her in for a moment, letting the familiar scent ground him.

 

“Hey mamma,” he says at last. “Are you busy?”

 

She looks him up and down. Even sees the flicker of worry before she smiles, seemingly satisfied with what she finds.

 

“Never too busy for my handsome boy,” she says, inviting him in.

 

\--

 

That evening, Magnus convinces some of the others to come up to the silo roof to hang.

 

It’s not that cold out, but some of the girls cry off early, and Eva and Jonas disappear to watch a film in Jonas’s room—or to _not_ watch a film, judging by the looks on Isak and Mahdi’s faces as they leave. They’re supposedly friends, but Even doesn’t buy it. Maybe it’s the situation with Sonja talking, but Jonas and Eva seem more than just _friendly_ , and Even doesn’t see why they’re pretending otherwise.

 

Mahdi leaves soon after to call his girl, leaving Even alone on a bench overlooking the city. He pulls his hood up, feeling the cool wind on his face. The view from the roof is kind of beautiful—all of the twinkly lights below, but it also freaks him out a little. It makes him feel small. Insignificant.

 

He turns to face inwards, away from the roof’s edge. As he does, a warm weight presses against his shoulder.

 

Vilde sits beside him, as Isak settles onto the bench opposite them.

 

“Where’s Magnus?” Even asks.

 

“Gone to make hot chocolate,” Vilde says. Isak pulls out his phone, and Even finds himself wishing he’d say something.

 

Nobody speaks, although next to him, Even can feel Vilde fidgeting, playing with her hair and tapping her feet.

 

After a while, he takes pity on her.

 

“Are you cold?” He says.

 

Her eyes widen.

 

“No. It’s kind of you to ask.”

 

Even glances back at Isak, who is now smiling at his screen.

 

Vilde clears her throat, and Even turns back to her.

 

“I don’t mean to be rude… but are you gay?”

 

_What?_

 

Even feels caught. Damn. Is he really looking at Isak that much? He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just looking.

 

Before Even can even answer, Isak answers for her.

 

“Vilde, you can’t just ask people if they’re gay.”

 

Vilde rolls her eyes.

 

“That’s only if it’s a secret, Isak. But you’re out of the closet, aren’t you?”

 

She’s talking to Even, now. It’s kind of funny, almost, how she’s asking it—so matter of fact, in her sweet Vilde way. He likes that she’s straightforward about it… if a little misguided.

 

“I’m bisexual,” he corrects. “No closets.”

 

“Bisexual?” Vilde’s eyes widen.

 

Across from him, Isak is holding himself very still. Even knows why, but he still finds it a bit irritating. Isak’s all shut up and guarded—not like he was the other night with the rapping.

 

He kind of wants to draw that person back out again.

 

He thinks back to his conversation with his mamma. He’d told her a little about Isak, and she’d given him her patented Look straight away. He’d told her it was nothing, but she hadn’t looked convinced. He’d tried to tell her that he wasn’t interested in more drama, and she’d only shaken her head.

 

_You can’t close yourself off because you’re afraid of getting hurt._

 

When he’d told her about Sonja, she’d only pursed her lips. She’d always been of two minds about his girlfriend—torn between glad that Even had someone who loved and cared for him, and concerned about the way Sonja expressed that care.

 

He realizes he’s taken too long to answer.

 

“I like anyone I like,” he says. Very deliberately. He doesn’t mean it as an explanation, but that’s how Vilde takes it.

 

“I know what bisexual means. I just didn’t know that you were one.”

 

Vilde looks down at her hands,

 

“I wanted to ask you… how is it that you knew you liked boys?”

 

Even raises his eyebrows.

 

“Well… How do you know you like boys?”

 

Vilde doesn’t answer that question.

 

“I mean, when you first kissed a boy, how did it feel?” She says, instead.

 

Across from them, Isak makes a strangled noise. He snaps out of his full-body bind and shoots Vilde an incredulous look. It’s only this that makes Even realize Isak’s eyes have been on him the whole time.

 

“That’s a personal question, Vilde.” Isak says. And Even appreciates it, but—

 

“It’s okay,” Even says. Because it is—it’s not a hard question. “It felt… good. Really good.”

 

“Really good?”

 

Vilde seems frustrated. Like the answer isn’t enough.

 

“Okay, but… say, just because I felt things when I made out with Eva doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian.”

 

Wow.

 

Wow.

 

“Okay,” Even says. Then, because he can’t stand going round in circles like this:

 

“Vilde, what is this about?”

 

She hesitates for a moment, then seems to deflate, nervously smoothing her pale hair back from her face.

 

“The girls keep telling me that I should hook up with Magnus. And he is… nice… but I don’t know if I like him. That way.”

 

Oh, fuck. So this isn’t about Even, at least.

 

“Well, how do you feel when you’re with him?” he tries. Vilde doesn’t meet his eyes.

 

“I feel…” She looks down at her hands. “I don’t know. The girls say I like him.” Vilde frowns, now. “Chris said I need to ‘get some dick.’”

 

Isak practically chokes. Even shakes his head, not knowing what to say. This is not what he signed up for.

 

He wants to be a friend to Magnus, but at the end of the day he also wants to do right by Vilde. So he tells her the truth, choosing his words as carefully as he can.

 

“I think… it doesn’t matter what they say or what they think. You need to decide what you want, Vilde. Don’t let other people control you.”

 

He’s afraid he’s said the wrong thing, but Vilde tries a weak smile, her eyes watery.

 

“Okay.” She says.

 

They’re quiet for a minute. Then, surprising them both, Isak speaks.

 

“Only you can feel what you feel,” he says, his face soft but serious.

 

Wow. Isak’s eyes meet Even’s. His words repeat over and over in his head.

 

Even feels something bloom in his chest. Something. That intangible, irrepressible something.

 

“Only you can feel what you feel,” Even says, echoing him.

 

He looks at Isak, and Isak looks at him. And Vilde’s phone rings—Magnus, downstairs, has predictably fucked up the hot chocolate—so she makes her excuses to go and help him, but Even and Isak keep still.

 

Even remembers, as they sit there, what it was like as they smoked they first night. How Isak had just looked and looked like he was drunk on it, until neither of them wanted to be just looking. How the pressure had built up in his ribcage until he just said _fuck this_ and pressed his face against Isak’s, coaxed his tongue into his mouth. It had been fun but it had also been intoxicating.

 

Even’s sure as he ever was that he’s not ready to start something… but he remembers. And from the look on Isak’s face—eyes darting down to Even’s mouth, his breathing a little shallow—he thinks Isak must be remembering it, too.

 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Isak says.

 

And… well, fuck it.

 

Of course Even wants to.

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Leave me a comment here or come find me on Tumblr--I love hearing your theories about what's going to happen! Writing this fic so far is proving to be an excellent replacement for therapy.
> 
> I'm also building kind of a huge playlist with this, so let me know if you wanna see what's on it, and feel free to suggest songs. 
> 
> Fun fact: Even's mother is an architect in my headcanon for her here. I don't think that detail is gonna make the final cut, but in my head she works 2 days a week from her home office, which she started doing after Even was diagnosed. I like to think he inherited his artistic nature from her.


	4. kissing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even likes it like this. Just the two of them, the open world, the wind and stars and the water lapping against the edges of the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY <3
> 
> This chapter got hella long. Partly because I decided to write a sex scene and then freaked out and had to be saved by imminentinertia. Thanks, girl.
> 
> I've been having kind of a crappy time these past few days, with my anxiety, and the fact that I got my first PhD rejection last night. This fic, and this fandom, have been pulling me through, so thank you all a million times for your lovely comments and encouragement. 
> 
> Maybe we didn't get #EvenforSeason4 on his birthday, but I hope this eases the pain somewhat. Even Bech Næsheim continues to make me feel less alone.

-

 

 

 

 

For all that Isak asked him to leave with him, the other boy seems to have no plan for Even actually saying yes. He walks hesitantly, turning seemingly on a whim and trusting that Even will follow.

 

They don’t say anything to each other.

 

Even lets Isak take the lead as they walk—along the River, up over a bridge, back onto the streets, and finally into Birkelunden Park. There, Isak seems to run out of steam, sitting down heavily on the steps of the [ music pavillion ](https://c1.staticflickr.com/3/2950/15207578977_de6ae5e333_b.jpg) and looking up at Even until he joins him.

 

“Nice conversation,” Even jokes.

 

Isak flushes, and Even smiles. He wonders if Isak is nervous.

 

Even is strangely nervous. He’d told himself he wouldn’t pursue Isak, and he’d had a good reason for it. But here he is, waiting for Isak to say a single word to him like it’s the most important thing he could be doing tonight.

 

“Sorry,” Isak says, instead, and Even raises an eyebrow before he realises what Isak is apologizing for. The other boy fumbles his phone from his pocket as it vibrates, and even only has a moment to look at the name on the screen— _Lea_ —before Isak jabs at the ‘end call’ button and shoves it back in his jeans.

 

“My sister,” Isak says, and Even shrugs.

 

Maybe it is his sister. Even doesn’t care if it isn’t.

 

_This is a bad idea._

 

Even should probably listen to that voice, but he doesn't. Not when Isak smiles at him, or when Isak reaches into his other pocket, revealing a rolled joint. Instead, he watches Isak take a long pull, holding the sweet smoke in his mouth until he breathes it out into the night air.

 

The smoke surrounds his face and then dissipates into nothingness.

 

_This is a really fucking bad idea._

 

But Even doesn't care.

 

Isak offers him a drag from the joint, and Even looks at it for a moment, then back to Isak’s eyes. The other boy raises his eyebrow at Even’s hesitation, and he only has a second of indecision before he takes it, letting his fingers brush Isak’s.

 

Isak’s gaze follows the joint to Even’s mouth, and then he coughs, looks away.

 

Under the streetlamps, he looks pale and shiny, the dark circles under his eyes obvious. He’s almost swamped by his burgundy scarf, his hair yet again making an escape from a beanie hat. But his mouth quirks, and Even is drawn to the freckle above his lip.

 

He’s still so fucking cute.

 

For a while, they smoke in silence, passing the joint back and forth between them. Even doesn’t know if Isak is doing it on purpose, but their hands move slower every time, until Even’s little finger is trailing over Isak’s wrist on each pass; Isak’s long fingers tangling with his own clumsily as the joint burns shorter and shorter.

 

When it finally burns all the way down, Isak hesitates, like he wants to say something but isn’t quite ready to.

 

Even’s getting sick of the silence. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Perhaps they should call it a night here, no harm no foul, and go back to their rooms before anything happens. Even doesn’t want to, but the will-they-won’t-they push-pull of his emotions is making him feel unsettled.

 

“What’s the time?” He says. He means to fake a project deadline and make his excuses, but when Isak pulls his phone back out to check, he makes a little _huh_ under his breath, and Even catches a smile pulling at his lips.

 

“21:21,” he says.

 

And Even believes in signs.

 

“Okay,” he says, feeling a burst of decisiveness. “Let’s go.”

 

He stands and holds his hand out to Isak.

 

Isak looks at it a moment, before taking it, and letting Even pull him to his feet. He lets go of Even’s fingers once they’re standing, flexing his hand, but Even can’t bring himself to mind, because when Even starts to lead the way, Isak follows.

 

\--

 

As they walk, Isak gets more and more anxious. Even sneaks glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, but says nothing, smiling to himself as Isak continues to try and fail to say something.

 

They’ve been walking for about ten minutes when Isak finally cracks.

 

“What are we doing?”

 

Even turns to him, pretending to be surprised.

 

“Walking. Haven’t you heard of it?”

 

Isak rolls his eyes, and Even is secretly delighted by it.

 

“Where are we walking?” Isak asks, a petulant note in his voice.

 

“Don’t you like surprises, Isak?”

 

And now Isak narrows his eyes. He wrinkles his upturned nose, and Even snorts. He looks like a grumpy elf.

 

“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?”

 

“ _If I told you, I’d have to kill you_ ,” Even says in English, and Isak huffs.

 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, but it’s not like before. Before—it was like an elastic band stretched to snapping point. The tension is still there, but it’s not the same now. The pressure has been relieved.

 

“So, are you a 98?” Isak says, out of the blue.

 

_Why would he be a 98?_

 

“Magnus said you were away traveling last year,” Isak explains, looking a little embarrassed.

 

_Oh._

 

Even can’t help feeling pleased.

 

“You asked Magnus about me?”

 

“No!” Isak answers too quickly. “I was just trying to see if you were cool or not.”

 

Even doesn’t buy it. “Am I cool, then?”

 

Isak rolls his eyes again. _That’s twice._

 

“No,” Isak says. “Not as cool as me.”

 

Even laughs out loud at that one, throwing his head back. Isak looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

 

“I’m 97,” Even finally says.

 

Isak’s surprise isn’t well hidden, but he doesn’t launch into a million questions. Even is grateful, because he isn’t sure what he’d say.

 

He’s not in the habit of telling people his diagnosis when they’ve only just met, especially when he likes them…

 

And he likes Isak.

 

Fuck. That much is becoming obvious. He thinks about it as they walk together—how stupid and unproductive this is. This is exactly what he’d told himself he wouldn’t do, back when he thought Isak was just a cute closeted dude he stood a chance of fucking again. He can feel himself getting invested, now, despite his better judgement.

 

“Cool,” Isak finally says.

 

He doesn’t say any more as they reach Tøyen Park, and Even feels that warmth again. Something like fondness taking up the space in his chest.

 

\--

 

Even hasn’t really thought about where he’s taking Isak until they finally get there. He came to Tøyenbadet all the time when he was younger, with his dad. He learned to swim at the indoor pool here, and spent a couple of summers around the outdoor one with his aunt and cousins while his mamma was busy on new projects. Then his parents had split, and he and mamma had moved into the flat in Sagene. Once they separated, he’d rebelled against the idea of going to the pool with his dad, wanting him all to himself instead.

 

They spent their time together watching movies, after that.

 

The fence to the outdoor pools is easy to climb, and Even scales it without a thought. Isak, though, hangs back.

 

“Are we supposed to be here?”

 

Isak looks nervous—paranoid, maybe—and Even laughs.

 

“Afraid of breaking the rules?”

 

“No!” Isak says, too fast. Even shrugs.

 

Isak steels himself, then follows Even over the fence. It’s not the most dignified descent, but he lands on his feet, and Even just smiles at him, walking backwards towards the diving boards. He’s been here so many times he could navigate it blindfolded.

 

He knows where he’s going tonight.

 

Like he’s done a thousand times before, he climbs the steps to the diving board. He settles at the end of it, his long legs dangling down, and Isak follows, gingerly taking his place next to him. The other boy pulls his knees up into his chest, only his toes touching the board’s edge.

 

“I like it here at night. It’s peaceful.” Even finally says.

 

He looks down at the water swirling underneath them. He’s not kidding—although the weed definitely helps. That last year at Berg, he’d come here all the time. He’d been kind of obsessed with it for a while, to the point where Sonja had started desperately spouting stats about drowning, terrified that one day she’d find him facedown.

 

He’d stopped coming here soon after—because of Sonja.  She’d never really understood where he was coming from.

 

Isak probably won’t either, but Even’s used to that. He lays back on the board, looking up at the stars. Isak gingerly follows suit, until Even can feel the warmth of him along his side, Isak’s body just an inch from his own.

 

Isak holds himself rigid for a long moment, then melts into the board. Almost imperceptibly, melts closer to Even.

 

Even breathes through it.

 

“When I was in my third year, I tried to convince my girlfriend to break into her neighbours’ pool.” He remembers.

 

It was months after he’d stopped coming to Tøyenbadet, but she hadn’t forgotten it. She’d been terrified again the second he’d suggested it.

 

Isak turns his head to look at him, incredulous. Even looks back.

 

Isak’s face is so close to his. If Even rolled over, he could rest his chin on Isak’s forehead.

 

(He wouldn’t. That’d be weird. But he could.)

 

“What? Why?”

 

“I thought it would be romantic,” Even admits. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

 

Isak wrinkles his nose.

 

“Romeo and Juliet?” he asks. He doesn’t sound mocking—just surprised.

 

“In Baz Luhrmann’s movie.” Even clarifies.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Have you seen it?” Even asks. It’s obvious from the look on Isak’s face that he hasn’t.

 

“Yeah?” Isak answers—and fuck, he’s a bad liar. _Why is that so endearing?_

 

“You like Baz Luhrmann?” Even teases.

 

Isak hesitates.

 

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of them.” _Them._ God, this boy is so cute.

 

“You’d like him,” Even says, turning back to the sky. “He’s the greatest director of all time.”

 

Isak smiles.

 

“So you’re really into movies?”

 

“I’m going to be a director one day.” Even says. It's been a long time since he said that out loud.

 

“Cool.”

 

They lay there for a moment, just breathing.

 

Even likes it like this. Just the two of them, the open world, the wind and stars and the water lapping against the edges of the pool. The weed and Isak next to him making all the noise in his head go quiet. Perhaps it should be weird. Isak is just a boy he slept with once—but he doesn’t feel like that.

 

Here and now, Even can almost forget how they met.

 

“Sometimes I think that life is just like a movie,” Even says. Right now, he feels like he could say anything to Isak and it’d be okay. “That you can be the director of your own life.”

 

A gust of wind makes Isak shiver, pulling closer to Even.

 

“Do you get what I mean?” Even asks. Isak nods.

 

“I do.”

 

Isak thinks it over.

 

“You don’t agree?” Even prompts.

 

“I’m not sure,” Isak hedges, but he clearly is.

 

“Okay, tell me,” Even says.

 

“I just think… what makes it all so interesting is the infinity,” Isak says, and now it’s Even’s turn to be surprised.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks.

 

“All those parallel universes,” Isak starts. “Everything, like, just how big everything is. How insignificant we are, compared to all of the infinite parallel universes that exist.”

 

That’s unexpected.

 

Even hadn’t seen that answer coming at all, but as soon as Isak says it, it feels perfect. Perfectly Isak.

 

“And everything that can happen will happen,” Isak says. “Not only will happen, it is happening.”

 

Even keeps going over it in his head. _Everything that can happen will happen._

 

This night feels like it has lasted a thousand years. Like he and Isak have been living it for infinity, as if since Isak told Vilde _only you can feel what you feel_ they’ve been living in their very own groundhog day.

 

And it can only end one way, Even thinks. No matter how scary that might seem.

 

Even much prefers the idea that he can control what happens. But he wonders if Isak might be right.

 

“Okay, enough jay for you,” he jokes, finally, and Isak huffs, smiling to himself.

 

“So, did you break into the pool?” He finally says. He senses, perhaps, that Even doesn’t have any answers to the meaning of life. But when Isak shivers again, Even lets him burrow yet closer into his side, fully aware that it isn’t _that_ cold and that Isak hasn’t complained once about wanting to leave.

 

“No,” Even finally answers. “Not with Sonja.”

 

“And not with anyone else?” Isak asks.

 

“No,” Even says. “Not yet.”

 

They look at each other again, and Even can almost read what Isak is thinking on his face. Perhaps in one of those parallel universes, Isak would push him into the pool and they’d kiss and the music would play. But it’s September, and they’ve been smoking, and the outdoor pool will give them both hypothermia.

 

Besides all that? Even’s not sure he’s ready for it. That big, swelling romantic moment with the violins.

 

He feels like they’re on the brink of it, nonetheless.

 

The air around them sags under the weight of it. It’s so fucking inevitable. Tentatively, Even reaches his arm out to wrap under Isak’s head. Isak takes it as the invitation it is, wriggling closer and tilting his head up to look into Even’s eyes.

 

He looks so touchable. That wide mouth, those sleepy eyes—all of it. He looks like something Even could have.

 

Isak’s chin raises, and it’s like he’s begging to be kissed. Even can’t fucking take it. Part of him wants to ask Isak another question about parallel universes but he can’t shake the feeling that every Even in every universe is here, in this exact same moment, with an Isak in his arms wondering whether to kiss him.

 

Even doesn’t want to be one of the poor fools who doesn’t.

 

Of its own accord, his hand reaches up to tug at the hair escaping from Isak’s hat. His thumb lingers on Isak’s cheek, down to his sharp jawline. He can feel Isak’s ragged breath on his neck—his eyelashes fluttering closed against Even’s skin.

 

And he kisses him.

 

He couldn’t say who moves the final inch, but Isak’s chapped lips press against his own, and Even’s heart races. Isak presses his whole body into the kiss, bringing up his hands to fist in Even’s hair under his hood, sipping kisses from his mouth with increasing desperation.

 

Even can barely breathe.

 

He pulls away for just a moment, and there Isak is looking straight into him—pupils blown and eyes wild with fever or fear or both.

 

Even reels him back in, slower this time. Even’s thumb grazes Isak’s throat, and Isak makes a little sound, his mouth parting just enough for Even to slip his tongue in. Isak sucks it into his mouth, his own tongue sliding against Even’s without hesitation, and now Even is the one making sounds.

 

All he wants is to get closer to Isak. Fuck, he feels so alive right now.

 

\--

 

They run back through the streets, pausing in alleys to steal kisses and laugh into each other’s mouths.

 

Back at the silo, it takes Even too many tries to get his key in the lock—even with Isak’s hands and mouth kept to themselves, now they might see people again, he’s damn distracting, that little grin on his face hitting Even low and deep.

 

He finally unlocks the door and they stumble inside, finding each other as soon as the door closes.

 

They shed their coats and hats in the doorway, and Isak kicks off his shoes with so much enthusiasm that he nearly trips over his own feet. Even steadies him, walking Isak back until he’s pressing him into his bedroom wall, stealing kisses as they fumble with each other’s clothes.

 

Even pulls off Isak’s t-shirt, stupidly delighted by the slope of Isak’s shoulders, acne scars and all. He pulls off Isak’s jeans, and shimmies off his own, until they’re both just in their boxer briefs, hardening as they rub against each other.

 

He’s seen all of this before, but it feels different now.

 

Even kisses him again; he kisses Isak’s mouth, then his neck, then his bare chest.

 

Isak throws his head back, only to smack it against the wall.

 

“Fuck,” he says, and Even can’t help but laugh as he looks up to see him rubbing the back of his skull with a pout. He reaches out to cup the back of Isak’s head with his hand.

 

“Careful,” he laughs. “There’s a wall.”

 

“Fuck you,” Isak says, but he’s already lifting his mouth to Even’s for another kiss. He walks Even back towards his bed—Even’s hand stays cupping his head, tangled in his hair—and Even lets him move him where he wants him.

 

Even only feels the bed under him when the backs of his legs hit it, and he lets Isak crowd him up until he’s fully seated on the bed, his back against the headboard.

 

And then suddenly Even has a lapful of Isak.

 

Isak straddles his legs and slings his arms over Even’s shoulders. Even’s own hands drift down, fingers tracing over Isak’s back.

 

He doesn’t know where to start with this boy.

 

If you’d asked Even before, he wouldn’t have guessed Isak would want to sit like this—that he might find it too feminine a position. Isak doesn’t look uncomfortable, though. More the opposite. Even’s hands come to rest on his hips, and he settles some of his weight onto Even’s thighs, until Even’s cock is snug up between his ass cheeks.

 

“Okay?” Isak says, raising an eyebrow at Even. Even can’t deal with this.

 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Even says, breathing the last word into Isak’s mouth as he moves in to kiss him again.

 

Isak kisses him more fiercely, and Even feels Isak’s dick jump, where it’s pressed between their bellies. Even’s own follows suit, and Isak inhales sharply as Even’s hips jerk, the line of his cock riding the cleft of Isak’s ass.

 

Shit, this is going to end quickly.

 

“Do that again,” he says, and Isak does, grinding down on him before slipping his tongue into Even’s panting mouth. His kisses are filthier by the minute—his rhythm faster as he rubs himself down on Even’s cock.

 

It feels fantastic. But it’s also going to be over way too fast, and Even wants to at least see Isak’s dick before he comes.

 

“Hey,” he says, pulling away from Isak’s mouth. “Slow down.”

 

He pulls at the elastic of Isak’s underwear, letting his fingers dip into them. Isak arches up into him as his hands slip under the fabric, and acquiesces, letting Even control the movement of his hips.

 

When he starts to move again, it’s a slow roll. Still good, but less urgent.

 

Even smiles and takes Isak’s ass cheeks in the palms of his hands, squeezing them.

 

“You wanna touch yourself?” He asks. Isak flushes—maybe he isn’t used to talking during sex, Even thinks. Or maybe he’s just really into it.

 

“Just let me—” Isak trails off.

 

Either way, he pulls back, and Even takes his hands away for Isak to wrestle Even’s underwear off of his hips, discarding it by Even’s bed. Isak’s own follows suit, and he makes the sweetest noise as he looks down at their bare cocks together, red and hard as they bob against each other.

 

Even’s always thought that dicks are kind of hilarious to look at. But right now he sees what Isak is seeing.

 

“Here,” Even says, wrapping his wrist around both of them and beginning to stroke. Isak flushes even more, looking up to the ceiling like it’s too much.

 

Even lets him. Maybe it is a lot. For all he knows, Isak’s only ever had quick fucks with half-drunken idiots who don’t know what to do with him.

 

Even wants to be better than that.

 

He tangles his free hand in Isak’s hair, kissing him again.

 

As Even strokes them, Isak gets more and more worked up, pushing himself up into Even’s fist. Even can feel the sweat on Isak’s temple—feels it as Isak gets close to coming, and his kisses get uncoordinated and wet.

 

 _The point of no return,_ says the part of him that’s seen far too many movies.

 

Isak squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his own lip. He’s really close, now, and Even feels himself getting hotter just watching. He just wants to tip Isak over the edge. He lets go of his own cock, concentrating on Isak’s face as he pulls him off.

 

“Look at me,” he says, softer than he knew he was capable of in this moment. “Come on.”

 

Isak winces, then forces his eyes open, his breaths now coming out ragged.

 

“Isak,” Even says—and that’s it.

 

Isak comes between them, silently, his eyes stuttering closed again as he spills over Even’s hand, coating his own pale stomach. When his eyes open again, a moment passes between them. Something terrifyingly raw.

 

Even clears his throat, then wipes his hand off on Isak’s leg.

 

The spell breaks.

 

Isak recoils, shooting Even an incredulous look.

 

“What the fuck?” He says, laughing, and Even raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

 

“Gross,” Isak says. “See if I give you a blow job now.”

 

Even’s laugh catches in his throat.

 

-

 

It’s only as they lay there, after, that Even starts to feel anxious. He’s not even sure what he’s more afraid of—that Isak will leave, or that Isak will stay. It will hurt, he knows, to wake up to find Isak gone. But it’ll hurt more, in the long run, to let himself stumble further into whatever this thing is he’s feeling.

 

He’s never felt anything like it before.

 

Isak is drifting in and out of sleep, the covers barely over him. He cracks open one eye to glare at Even, as he turns over for the fifth time, trying to get comfortable.

 

“What is it?” He asks, and Even sighs, looking up at the ceiling.

 

He just feels wrong, somehow. Like he’s been cracked open and exposed, before he was really ready for it. He’s known Isak all of five minutes. How does he know any of it is even real?

 

“Even,” Isak says, and Even avoids his gaze. He doesn’t know how to explain himself without making Isak feel like shit.

 

So he does it anyway.

 

“You’re still in the closet,” he says. He isn’t even sure why—it’s just the first thing he thinks of. Next to him, Isak sits up a little.

 

“What? No.” Isak sounds offended at just the thought of it.

 

“No?”

 

“No,” Isak mumbles. “It’s complicated.”

 

Even looks at him now. He knows that he did it on purpose, but it still sucks when he sees how uncomfortable Isak looks.

 

Isak pulls the covers further up his chest.

 

“It’s not that I’m hiding. I’m just not used to being… open.”

 

No kidding.

 

“So none of your friends know you’re gay?” He doesn't say it nicely. It’s like picking at a wound. Except that it’s not even his own.

 

Isak hesitates.

 

“Well?” Even asks.

 

“I’m not, like, gay-gay.” Isak may be flustered, but he says it with real venom in his voice, and Even is startled out of his own thoughts.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Perhaps he means that he’s bi. Or questioning. Or—

 

“I’m not gay like Eskild is gay,” Isak says, avoiding Even’s eyes. “I don’t wear makeup or listen to Madonna, or…”

 

“Are you kidding?” Even can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Please tell me you’ve never said that to Eskild.”

 

Isak looks like he wants to crawl into a hole.

 

“No. Fuck. I can’t explain it.”

 

“But you are gay?” Even prompts. Because he’s nothing if not a dog with a bone.

 

Isak is quiet. Even bites his tongue, knowing that the things he wants to say are not helpful.

 

_You’ve had your mouth on my dick. That’s pretty fucking gay._

 

He’d suspected, before, that Isak had some issues with who he was. Knew, obviously, that he didn’t want his friends to know. But this breaks his heart a little bit.

 

“I don’t really talk about this,” Isak says, at last.

 

“You don’t want to?” Even replies. He feels guilty, now, even bringing it up. But Isak surprises him again.

 

“No. I do. I just never have.”

 

“Not even with your friends?”

 

“Well, Jonas and Eva might know, but we haven’t talked about it. And Eskild has maybe seen people leave my room.”

 

_Oh._

 

Even says it out loud, and Isak almost smiles. A little.

 

“What?”

 

“Just glad I’m not the only person you’ve been with,” Even says, trying to lighten the mood. Isak smiles a tiny bit more at that.

 

“Did you think I was a virgin?”

 

“No,” he says, leering a little. And then, because he’s an idiot. “Just in the closet.”

 

Isak’s smile drops again.

 

“Can you stop saying that?” Isak bites out.

 

“Why does it bother you?” Even asks.

 

If Isak isn’t in the closet, what is he?

 

“I just hate that, Isak responds. “Like I’m hiding, or being fake. It’s not that easy for all of us to just be who we are. All Lady Gaga ‘born this way’ and shit.”

 

“You think it’s easy for me?” Even asks. He doesn't like that Isak thinks that, but—

 

 _Of course he does,_ he reminds himself. _You haven’t told him anything._

 

“Like you’ve ever been ashamed of who you are,” Isak says, looking him up and down. He looks sad now, and Even hates, hates, hates himself for putting that look on his face.

 

“You don’t really know me,” Even says, simply. It's true. But he wishes he hadn't brought any of this up.

 

Isak looks away from him, then shivers.

 

“Are you still cold?” Even says, and Isak shrinks away from him, like he senses Even is about to reach out. Even doesn’t. Isak doesn’t look like he wants to be touched, right now.

 

Even feels like shit. He wants the smiling, ridiculous Isak back. So he tries something else.

 

“Why did you leave that morning?”

 

“What do you mean?” Isak’s mumbling now, barely even responding.

 

“I mean, why didn’t you stay?”

 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” Isak doesn’t look at him.

 

“Bullshit. I asked you to stay.” Even says it softly, seeking out Isak’s eyes. They’re watery, and Even did that. Shit. He’s such a dick.

 

“Guys never want to stay,” Isak admits. Then, with bravado: “I’m not a fucking girl, I don’t need someone to make me breakfast just because I sucked their dick.”

 

Even reaches out again, pushing Isak’s hair out of his face.

 

“I would make you breakfast after you sucked my dick,” he says, quietly. Dumb as it is, it feels like a confession. He holds his breath, waiting for Isak’s response.

 

Isak breathes. And breathes. Looks at his hands. Breathes.

 

“What… what kind of breakfast?”

 

Isak finally meets Even’s eyes. Even smiles at him as encouragingly as he knows how to.

 

“My famous eggs,” Even says slowly. “Pancakes? Heart-shaped pancakes… with chocolate strawberries.”

 

Isak twists his lips, now, trying not to smile back.

 

“Romantic,” he comments.

 

“You deserve it,” Even says.

 

“Is that from one of your movies?” Isak asks.

 

Even shakes his head, and Isak takes him in.

 

Then, as Even’s chest swoops in relief, he tilts his head up for a kiss.

 

“Okay,” he says, as Even’s lips pull away.

    
“Okay, what?” Even asks. He wraps his arms around Isak, pulling him into his chest. He can feel Isak’s heart racing against his own.

    
“Make me breakfast,” Isak says, into Even’s chest.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIND ME ON TUMBLR!
> 
> Or, if you're interested in the playlist for this fic, find [this specific tumblr post](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/post/157205868963/lost-boys-not-ready-to-be-found-the-playlist), which links to the playlist on Spotify. Feel free to let me know in the comments if you have suggestions for new songs <3
> 
> I have no idea if I need to raise the rating to explicit, so your feedback on that would also be super appreciated!


	5. gave you up 'bout twenty one times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wonders if Sonja picked this place on purpose, to soften him towards her.
> 
> “I just miss you, Even,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit. I'm sorry. I've been kind of in a black hole this week. 
> 
> I actually debated a lot about even finishing this chapter. I've been kind of beating myself up, so I'm so grateful to every one of you who takes the time to write me something, and makes me feel like I'm not just uselessly flinging words out into the void. 
> 
> We are not alone. Thank you for reminding me of that.

 

 

-

 

When Even wakes up, for a moment he wonders why there is another person his bed. And then he remembers the night before. Isak. The pool.

 

This is moving faster than he’d anticipated.

 

Isak snuffles in his sleep, his face mashed into Even’s shoulder. His hair looks wild, as if Even has been running his fingers through it all night. Maybe he has. But Isak looks so peaceful, so young—like all of last night’s discomfort and tension has been worked out in his sleep.

 

This is moving fast. But Even wants to keep him.

 

 _Make me breakfast_ , Isak had said, and Even wasn’t serious about pancakes—couldn’t make them even if he wanted to—but as he looks at Isak’s sleeping mouth, he imagines Isak’s face when he wakes him with food. Imagines how it’ll feel to make something for him, care for him, see him try to hide that wide, pleased grin. He wants to make Isak feel good.

 

He’s climbing out of bed, disentangling his limbs, before he can second guess himself.

 

\--

 

He worries, when he opens the kitchen door, that he’ll bump into Magnus. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, if he does, because he’s not about to give away Isak’s secrets, and it’ll be suspicious enough when he makes food for two.

 

When he steps inside, though, it isn’t Magnus standing there.

 

“Vilde?”

 

She jumps, spilling water from the mug in her hand down the front of—wait, that isn’t her shirt.

 

“Hi, Even!”

 

He can’t read her tone.

 

Her face is shiny and makeup free—her hair remarkably like Isak’s, in disarray. She looks so morning-after that Even cringes. He really wishes he hadn’t come into the kitchen.

 

“Good morning,” he says, and then turns away, opening the fridge just for something to do.

 

He expects her to flee, but she keeps standing there, slurping loudly from Magnus’s mug. When he looks over his shoulder at her, she’s staring out of the window, watching a flock of birds fly by.

 

“Vilde?” he asks.

 

She turns back to him, a strange expression on her face.

 

“Are you okay?” He says.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, brightly. “I should get back to Magnus.”

 

She smiles, then, looking down at her mug, but she still doesn’t move.

 

Even has no idea what’s going on.

 

“Uh, breakfast,” he says redundantly, grabbing blindly at the fridge.

 

If he doesn’t say anything else, it’s only because he’s making food.

 

It’s way too early for this shit.

 

-

 

When Even returns to his bedroom, it isn’t quite with the breakfast he’d promised.

 

Isak is sitting up in Even’s bed, wearing a t-shirt he must have stolen from one of Even’s drawers. He looks up from his phone as Even shuts the door, only to make a hilariously bitchy face at the plate.

 

“Bread and cheese? Wow, you are the _master chef_.”

 

“Sorry. I panicked.”

 

“Panicked?”

 

Even pulls a face.

 

“Yeah, if you want to go and toast these _be my guest_.”

 

Isak looks away, and Even remembers. Of course Isak wouldn’t want to hang out in the shared kitchen. Too much risk of getting caught… Vilde being the case in point.

 

“Vilde’s in the kitchen.” He offers, wiggling his eyebrows at Isak.

 

The other boy’s mood changes completely.

 

“Vilde?!” Isak scoffs.

 

“ _Yep_.”

 

“Wow. Do you think she and Magnus…?”

 

“I don’t want to think about it.”

 

“Kind of a turnoff?”

 

Isak’s shit-eating grin is everything. Even has to laugh.

 

“No, I find Magnus very sexy.”

 

“Mm, I bet you do.” Isak plays along.

 

“He’s an Adonis among men,” Even quips back.

 

“Oh, really?” Now Isak huffs out a laugh of his own, and Even shakes his head

 

“No, not really.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

They both smile at each other for a moment. Maybe it’s too early to feel this stupidly fond, but Even does.

 

It’s a lot.

 

“No, it’s just not my business.” Even says, honestly.

 

It isn’t. After the conversation they had with Vilde last night, he can’t say he isn’t worried, but right now he doesn’t want to get involved with anyone else’s drama.

 

Isak shrugs, and Even chooses to believe that’s an agreement.

 

Isak breaks eye contact at last—peers down at the plate in front of him, instead.

 

“Ugh. This cheese is kind of sweaty.”

 

He isn’t wrong. Even had barely seen what he was putting on the plate when he did it.

 

“Just the way you like it,” Even says airily, biting into a slice. It’s not the best breakfast he’s ever made, but it’s too late to go back now.

 

“Fuck you.” Isak tries a piece, too, chewing thoughtfully. “Hmm,” he jokes.

 

The cheese isn’t getting better with more bites. Isak clearly thinks the same.

 

“Yeah. I think Magnus must have left it out last night. He’s always eating my stuff.”

 

“Very thoughtful,” Isak says.

 

Isak gives up on the food. He puts his slice down, grimacing, then leans in towards Even, instead.

 

“Another reason he’s the man of my dreams,” Even murmurs, his eyes settling on Isak’s lips.

 

“Wow, man of your dreams?” Isak’s voice gets quieter, closer. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Isak isn’t moving away.

 

“Haha, bye then.” Even hardly hears himself. He’s distracted by Isak’s mouth.

 

“Bye,” Isak murmurs, and then his lips press against Even’s, and Even drops crumbs all over himself in his haste to let Isak kiss him.

 

Maybe it would be better if they didn’t both taste like cheese. But deep down… that’s kind of Even’s favourite part.

 

“You’re so cute,” he says, when they finally part. He doesn’t care. He’ll tell Isak every day that he’s cute, because it’s gross and true and he doesn’t give a fuck about being extra right now.

 

“Eat your sweaty breakfast,” Isak grumbles. But he can’t stop the smile that’s threatening to take over his face.

 

 --

 

They spend the day inside a bubble.

 

Not a literal bubble, but Even thinks that’s the best way to describe it. Both the intensity and the fragility of it, and that feeling that it’s just the two of them in the world right now. Like if one of them steps outside of it, the moment will burst and reality will come rushing in.

 

Neither of them talk about it, but they skip their classes and lectures for the day. Instead, they learn about each other. Even tells Isak about his favourite movies, and Isak tries to convince him that Nicholas Cage isn’t terrible. Isak tells Even about the creepy guy, Julian, who sits next to him in cell and molecular biology lectures and stares at him all the time. They listen to Nas, and Even makes some food that’s mostly edible, and they kiss.

 

They kiss a lot.

 

In the bubble there is a lot of kissing, and some slow rubbing against each other, and one of the most drawn-out, lazy orgasms of Even’s life. It’s a pretty sweet setup.

 

The bubble is broken at 18:03 when Even’s phone chirps at him from under his pillow. He and Isak are dozing, sated and barely cleaned up, and he frowns—partly because it’s shattered the peace, and also because it’s been on silent all day. For a second he wonders why it’s making noise at him.

 

It’s only when he checks the screen and sees the alarm that he remembers that it’s time to take his pills.

 

“What’s that?” Isak murmurs, his hoodie-clad head half stuffed under Even’s hoodie-clad armpit.

 

“Just a reminder,” he says, swiping the notification away. “Essay due tomorrow. I forgot.”

 

Which— _fuck_. That’s true. How did he let himself forget about that?

 

“Hmm,” Isak says, and his eyes flutter closed again.

 

“Yeah.” Even lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling, then climbs out of bed.

 

“Bathroom,” he mutters, and Isak gives him a deeply suspicious look, but doesn’t question him.

 

Even’s never been more glad that he keeps his medication in his bathroom cabinet.

 

\--

 

Once he reaches the bathroom, he locks the door behind him and sits down heavily on the closed toilet seat. He feels weird about it; unsettled for the first time in hours.

 

There’s never really a good time to tell somebody about his diagnosis. If he says something too early, people react badly, like that’s somehow all he is. Even Bech Næsheim, the bipolar boy. But if he leaves it too late—then it seems like a secret he’s been keeping. A secret side of him that makes people afraid. And then—what if they don’t react well? What if he’s wasted all that time on getting attached to someone who can’t deal with it?

 

Ugh.

 

Even stands, then opens the cabinet and takes out his pill box. He’d taken his two morning pills before meeting Vilde in the kitchen, so there are just four tablets sitting in the slot marked _Thursday_.

 

He kind of hates that he takes so many, but he knows other people have it worse. At least his current combination seems to be working for him—he has bad memories of increasing his lithium dose that last year at Berg, and how everything had felt muddled and unclear for a while. He especially doesn’t like to think about the episode he had at Elvebakken. Even now, part of him still blames it on switching anti-psychotics.

 

The other part of him just feels ashamed.

 

Anyway, he’s been on this new combination since Berg, and he tries to stay positive about it. Even if some days he looks at the pills in his hand and feels like a ticking time bomb being defused far too slowly.

 

He swallows the pills down with water from the tap, then looks at himself in the mirror. Reminds himself that he’s here. Then, flushing the toilet out of habit, he counts to ten before returning to his room.

 

 --

 

Inside, Isak is sitting on the edge of Even’s bed, frowning at his phone screen. His thumbs hover over it, like he’s mid-way through a message, but he keeps deleting whatever it is he’s written.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

He’s the second person Even has startled today—which is weird, because it’s not like Isak wasn’t expecting him to return from the bathroom.

 

Isak looks spectacularly bummed out, though, and tosses his phone aside.

 

“Just my dad,” he says, and Even raises his eyebrows at the angry way he says _dad._ “It’s nothing,” he says.

 

He doesn’t look like it’s nothing. He looks like he wants Even to ask about it, so Even sits back down on the bed with him, putting an arm around Isak’s shoulder.

 

He runs his hands through Isak’s hair for a moment, pushing it back from his head.

 

Isak blossoms under the affection for a moment, and Even basks in it.

 

“What did he want?” Even asks.

 

“Just bullshit about me visiting home,” Isak says. “Just… making me feel guilty that I haven’t been home yet, blah blah blah.”

 

“Blah blah blah,” Even says, smiling a little under his breath. “Good story.”

 

Isak wrinkles his nose, but it clearly bothers him.

 

“So why don’t you?” Even asks. “Are your parents homophobic, or…?”

 

Isak takes a second to answer. It’s serious, then.

 

“It’s nothing to do with… that.” Isak avoids Even’s eyes. “My dad just doesn’t keep his promises.”

 

“How is that?”

 

Even doesn’t mind Isak not looking at him, if it makes it easier to say whatever he wants to say. But he does squeeze his shoulder tight. Isak sinks into the touch.

 

“My mamma,” he starts. Then stops. Then: “She’s not well. And my dad… he left because he couldn’t… handle it.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

That’s— _oh_.

 

“Is she… by herself?”  Even doesn’t know what to ask. _Not well_ could mean any number of things.

 

“No,” Isak says, his voice even more bitter now. “He said he would move home, but…”

 

Even waits him out. Isak will tell him if he needs to.

 

“He put her in this _place_ ,” Isak says at last. “So he wouldn’t have to take care of her.”

 

The words seem heavy on his tongue—something he doesn’t have the language to talk about yet.

 

He finally looks at Even, and his eyes are shining.

 

“I spent two years trying… I stayed with her,” Isak says. He wipes angrily at his eyes, and Even resists the urge to kiss his forehead.

 

“And now it’s his turn, he just…”

 

After a while, it becomes clear he isn’t going to finish that thought. Even murmurs reassurances in his ear instead, letting Isak turn in his arms to bury his face in Even’s neck.

 

They stay there like that for a while, until Isak’s eyelashes start to tickle Even’s throat, and he tips his face up for a kiss. Even gives it to him, and they press together, gentle hello-I-am-here kisses where their mouths barely move, until Isak’s mouth goes slack and he pulls away.

 

“I should go,” he says softly. “Let you finish your essay.”

 

It’s true, but Even doesn’t want him to go just yet. Not while he’s here in Even’s arms, sleep-warm and soft and wearing Even’s clothes.

 

“You could stay for a little bit,” Even says. “Some pizza, some Nicholas Cage action.”

 

He’ll suffer through it for another couple of hours of Isak.

 

“We’d both have to eat anyway,” he tries, and Isak hesitates, before kissing him quickly. A little too quickly, really—his nose butts up against Even’s kind of painfully—but it makes them both smile.

 

“Okay,” Isak says. “For Nicholas Cage.”

 

Even only has a moment to regret that promise before Isak kisses him again.

 

\--

 

Three hours later, after Magnus posts an Instagram shot of himself at Bjølsen, Isak leaves.

 

Minutes after Isak’s out of the door, Even opens the app to find a picture of himself with pizza on his chin.

 

 **isakyaki** @bechnaes bliss before #nicholascage

 

He looks at the photo. In it, Even’s grinning at the camera, eyes half shut, a pizza slice half to his mouth and a dash of red sauce on his chin.

 

He looks hideous, but happy. The simple kind he wishes he could bottle up.

 

He’s surprised, honestly, that Isak has posted anything at all. It doesn’t seem to fit with Even’s assumptions that he wanted to hide what was happening… although, granted, you can’t tell from the photo that they’ve spent the day rolling around on Even’s single bed.

 

Should he comment?

 

Isak tagged him, so he thinks that’d be okay. What is he allowed to say? Something flirty, that doesn’t out Isak? Something strictly bro? He likes the photo, then opens the comments underneath out of curiosity.

 

 **jonas9000** has commented—just three sunglasses emojis and _#nationaltreasure_.

 

Even refreshes, just about to write a comment of his own—something defending his movie-buff honour—when a new comment catches his attention.

 

 **so_hjelle** : _@bechnaes is this why you're not picking up your phone??_

 

For a moment, it’s like all the lightness has been sucked out of the room.

 

_What the fuck, Sonja?_

He allows himself barely a second of anger before he swipes over to his contacts and calls her.

 

She answers on the third ring, and has barely said Even’s name before he cuts her off.

 

“What do you want?” He says, aware that he sounds aggressive as fuck.

 

He doesn’t care. He just wants to maintain the tentative peace they’d built, away from each other.

 

He doesn’t need drama from her tonight.

 

“Even, please.” Sonja’s voice is placating, like always. “I just want to talk to you.”

 

“We're talking now,” he replies.

 

Sonja exhales slowly. It used to be one of his favourite things about her, that she’d think things through before saying them.

 

Now, it just bothers him. Like she’s walking on eggshells with him.

 

“And how are you?”

 

“I’m fine, Sonja.”

 

She hates when he says he’s _fine_ , and he knows it. She ignores it, not raising her voice when she pleads with him again.

 

“Even… can we talk in person? It’s been eight months.”

 

She’s been asking for a while now, so he doesn’t know why she’s still trying. Or—he does. But he wishes she wouldn’t.

 

“Don’t comment on Isak’s stuff,” Even says. “This is nothing to do with him.”

 

Sonja sighs down the phone. Even hopes she’s feeling frustrated.

 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’m sorry. But can we please meet?”

 

“Just to talk?”

 

He can’t stand the thought of another round of angst and heartache with Sonja, killing every good memory he still has left of them. He just wants it to be over.

 

“Yes, Even.”

 

But maybe this is the only way.

 

“Okay. I'll text you.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Even hangs up.

 

-

 

And so, the next morning, instead of writing his essay, Even finds himself sitting in a familiar Sagene café, with Sonja sitting opposite him.

 

She looks different. He didn’t really expect that. But her hair is long again—down past her shoulders, all the way blond again. When the light catches her, she almost looks like the girl he met at fifteen. When he takes her in, she seems older, though. Makeup-free, beautiful… happy. Maybe it’s that she looks happier than he remembers.

 

“So what did you want to say to me?”

 

He wants to avoid as many of the awkward pleasantries as possible. It’s hard though, sitting in this place they used to go to all the time.

 

“How are you?” Sonja tries.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

He wonders if Sonja picked this place on purpose, to soften him towards her.

 

“Please don’t shut me out,” she says, softly. She doesn’t reach for his hands like she once would have.

 

“I’m not shutting you out,” he responds. And, because he wants to be honest, but can’t help it coming out prickly—“it’s just not your problem.”

 

“I know that.”

 

To her credit, she sounds like she means it.

 

“I just miss you, Even,” she says, and Even exhales.

 

Of course he misses her, too. In some ways. Toxic and damaged as their relationship may have become, Sonja was his for four whole years. She knew everything, and she still loved him. Even may sometimes hate her, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love her, too.

 

“I miss you, too,” he tells her. Honesty. He’s trying.

 

“I want us to be friends again,” she says, now, and Even’s instinct is to shake his head.

 

“Like before?”

 

They both know how well that worked.

 

Sonja looks like she’s remembering it, too. How it all went to pieces in Venice—how she cried in the taxi all the way to the airport, spitting venom at Even for daring to touch her if he didn’t mean something more by it. How tight they held each other before she went through the gates, and she begged him to come home with her.

 

He didn’t.

 

“I’ve been trying to call you because I wanted you to know that I’m with someone.”

 

Huh.

 

Well. That’s not what he expected her to say. He fights down the little voice within him that isn’t sure he believes her.

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

“Okay?”

 

Perhaps Sonja expects him to be jealous. Or sad. Or anything—but Even isn’t anything. He just feels… relieved.

 

“It depends on why you’re telling me,” he says.

 

“Because I’m leaving, Even.” She smiles at him, now, tentatively. He sees it again. The happiness.

 

“What?”

 

“Aksel is going back to Copenhagen, and he asked me to come with him.”

 

 _Aksel_ , she says. The way she says it—Even realises it’s serious. Sonja and Aksel. It hits Even suddenly, that it’s really the end between him and Sonja. Yes, he’d hoped they could put their problems to bed, but hadn’t really believed that it would happen.

 

Now that it has, he just feels... sad.

 

“When are you going?” He asks.

 

“In three weeks.”

 

God, that’s soon. Even hasn’t seen Sonja in person in eight months, but the idea of her being gone from Oslo? He doesn’t feel ready.

 

“He’s a good person. He’s so sweet, and caring. A little bit older. I’m happy, Even.”

 

_Say ‘I’m happy for you.’ Say it._

 

He can’t say it.

 

“So I thought maybe… when I’m in Copenhagen, we could talk. On the phone.” She swallows, avoiding Even’s eyes a little. “Maybe... Maybe that would be better. I still care about you a lot.”

 

Even’s heart is in his throat.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s okay. Just think about it?”

 

“Okay,” he says. But the second he does, he knows he’ll take her calls.

 

He used to only ever want to make her happy. He was never any good at it. But maybe now…

 

“And I’m sorry for involving Isak,” Sonja continues. “Is he your boyfriend?”

 

Even doesn’t want to think about that one, right now.

 

“No,” he says, simply.

 

“But you like him?”

 

It’s another simple answer, so he gives it. “Yes.”

 

“Does he know you’re bipolar?”

 

“No.”

 

Even doesn’t know why he’s only giving one-word answers, but he feels a little blindsided right now. He clears his throat.

 

“Are you going to tell him?”

 

 _I was thinking about that earlier_ , he could say. Could explain it all to Sonja. But he says nothing, because he doesn’t want to hear what she has to say on that subject.

 

“Just think about it, Even.” She still knows him too well, after all this time. “He deserves to know what he’s getting into.”

 

He knows that, is the thing. He fucking knows. This is why he didn’t want to get involved with someone in the first place. He knows he isn’t easy to love. He doesn’t make people happy. Sonja’s proof of that.

 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Sonja says quickly. “But you don’t know what it’s like being on the other side of it.”

 

Even tries to smile at her, but he knows it falls flat.

 

“It’s okay,” he says.

 

Sonja’s eyes look glassy, now.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Even. You’re one of my favourite people in the world.”

 

Even shakes his head.

 

“I have to go,” he manages. “It’s okay. I just have to go.”

 

Fuck. He’s crying now, too.

 

She wraps her arms around him, and for a moment, it’s like he’s fifteen again. Like Sonja is wearing her hair long and Even is wearing baggy jeans and she’s just told him she loves him for the first time, and all he can see is the epic, romantic future stretching in front of them—the dreams he has about the places they’ll go, how they’ll dance under the stars and kiss until their faces hurt on the bunkbed of an Interrail train.

 

But they’re older now, and that dream is dead.

 

“I’m sorry about Venice,” she says into his shoulder. He can hear the tears in her voice, and it hurts. It still hurts. “I shouldn’t have come.”

 

“I don’t blame you for coming,” he whispers back.

 

And then they part ways.

 

He leaves feeling colder, somehow, the music playing in his ears like a soundtrack to a movie where he only has a background role.

 

He walks, hardly noticing the streets around him. Even the cars driving by seem muted, like someone has turned down the colour on an old television set.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

He pulls it out, and it takes him a long moment to even take the words in. It’s just a text from Isak—

 

_hey, hope your essay went okay. Do you still wanna hang out tomorrow?_

 

It’s so innocuous. He can picture Isak sitting in a lecture, typing out the message, a tiny smile on his face mystifying everyone around him. Who is this angel? What has he done with our grumpy elf?

 

Isak has no idea what he’s getting in for. And—if he’s being honest? Neither does Even.

 

 _Hey Isak_ , he types _. I forgot I had a meeting tomorrow with the department social club. Sorry. See you soon._

 

He presses send, and then turns the music up. Louder and louder. Until he can’t hear anything else.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know where I am.


	6. i'm not just a fuckup, i'm the fuckup you need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus is suspiciously inactive. Then his next message comes through, and Even nearly drops his phone in surprise.
> 
>  
> 
> _Is it because of you and Isak?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry.
> 
> This took a long time. I know. I had to dig myself out of a hole, there, but things are better now. Props as ever to imminentinertia, for catching my hungover typos and cheerleading me all the way.
> 
> To you all: thanks for your sweet and supportive comments, which really meant a lot to me during my dark nights of the soul. And all of the gratitude in the world goes to those of you who have followed me on Tumblr. It absolutely makes my day to get messages on there. 
> 
> I promise the next update will be sooner!
> 
> Alt er love <3

 

-

 

 

 

A week later, Even is sitting in a seminar when his phone vibrates against his leg. The class is too small for him to check it without being noticed, so he’s forced to wait as it vibrates again. And again.

 

Not for the first time, he hopes it’s Isak.

 

Isak had texted him the day after Even had blown him off, but Even hadn’t responded. In his defence, that essay really _had_ needed doing—and not just the essay, but also so much other work for that stupid film project that he’d let slide.

 

At first he’d said no to Isak because he was in a bad place—but after that, he had just been focused on staying on track and keeping up with work and talking to Iver. Trying to work out why he was so sad about Sonja and not let that sadness become something bigger.

 

He still should have responded differently. In hindsight, his message to Isak had been such an overreaction.

 

Talking to Iver this week has made him think a lot about his reactions to Isak. How hesitant he is to even let himself like Isak, when he so obviously does. Even has even talked about Isak to his dad—just a story about that terrible Nicholas Cage movie, but it was enough to get his dad giving him Looks.

 

Sure, Even and Sonja made each other miserable at the end, but they had happy memories too. Iver had asked him what his happiest memory had been so far at UiO—and obviously his classes were nowhere near the top of the list.

 

Isak, though?

 

Yeah, Even had been happy that day. That’s probably what had scared him so much.

 

He still wants to be happy, even when it scares him. He’s seen Iver more than usual, this week, and they’ve talked a lot about that—the fact that Even deserves happiness. And maybe it’s not ideal for Even to pin his happiness to a person, but he feels like he wants to give things with Isak a shot. To at least see what’s there—because he thinks there could be something good.

 

Unfortunately, Isak hasn’t sent him any more messages since Even blew him off. Although Even wants to talk to him, he doesn’t really know how to explain. What does he say? _I freaked out because my ex is leaving town? My mental health is shaky right now?_ The more he thinks about just admitting he’d been a dick, saying sorry… the more time passes.

 

He’d finally sent Isak a message yesterday, but his stupid, casual _hey what’s up_ had gone unanswered in return. Payback's a bitch.

 

Even hasn’t seen the rest of the gang all week either, because Vilde, the planner, has been too busy with Magnus to organize anything. By extension? Even hasn’t seen Isak, and he’s too chicken to seek him out. He just doesn’t know what sort of reception he’ll get.

 

Now, he just doesn’t know what to do about the whole thing. It was one day they’d spent together. Just 24 hours. And it’d been six days before he tried to reach out to Isak to hang out again. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible, saying he was busy. Not on paper, anyway. He had never promised Isak anything. But even if those were the facts, he felt bad. Isak had shared things with him that felt important. And Even may have had a reason to want to be alone… but he’d probably hurt Isak’s pride, if nothing else.

 

It’s all a lot to think about.

 

Even has just about managed to stop worrying about Isak and start focusing on the seminar when the leader wraps up the class.

 

“Don’t forget,” she says. “Tomorrow night Rosebud are screening some past student films. It’ll be good inspiration for your own projects.”

 

Even groans. On the inside, at least. That fucking social club—it just reminds him of what he said to Isak. Isak, Isak, Isak. What’s that phenomenon called, when suddenly something is everywhere you look?

 

“At least one member of your project group must attend,” she says, and Even sinks down further in his seat.

 

To his right, two of his project partners are giving him a hopeful look. The fourth hasn’t even bothered to show up, so Even is writing her off as a no.

 

“What time tomorrow?” Even asks, grudgingly.

 

Karma. Definitely karma.

 

\--

 

When he gets out of the seminar, he checks his phone.

 

It isn’t Isak. It’s his kitchen-mate, finally resurfacing from his Vilde-shaped cocoon to post in the group chat. Or—a group chat. Even must have only just been invited to this one, because he does not remember being part of a group called “Person who solicits cat prostitutes and his friends.”

 

 **Magnus:** _Hey boyyyys_

_party tomorrow night at Schistad’s place???_

 

Damn, karma’s really a fucking bitch. Okay. So, Even has no idea who Schistad is. Or why Even is suddenly in this chat. But it’s typically terrible timing... Assuming that Magnus even meant to include him.

 

 

 **Jonas:** yisssss

_Fuck that guy though tbh_

 

 **Mahdi:** _lol bro is vilde coming_

**Magnus:** _;)_

 

 **Jonas:**  
 

 

**Isak:**

****

 

 **Magnus:** _haha fuck you_

_Yes she is_

_Boyyys_

_nissen #squad assemble_

 

 **Isak:**  

 

 **Magnus:** _\+ even bech honorary nissenheim_

 

 **Mahdi:** _ugh_

_that was weak_

_I’m there tho_

 

 **Jonas:** _can I bring eva_

**Mahdi: lol**

****

 

 **Jonas:** _two words mahdi: third year_

 

 **Magnus:** _trufax_

_okay 20:30 our kitchen. Pregame!!_

_peacenluv_

 

Even tries to ignore the way his heart leaps at reading Isak’s name.

 

Maybe a party would be the best thing? He could see Isak in person to talk. Not have to guess how Isak is feeling as he stares at his phone screen. Maybe that would be the best place to see him again.

 

The chat goes quiet for a moment, then another text comes through. Not to the group, now—just to Even.

 

Still Magnus.

 

_Yooo EBN you in?_

_guy from Nissen is hosting_

_gonna be sweeeeet_

 

Even sighs.

_Not sure._

 

Magnus is suspiciously inactive. Then his next message comes through, and Even nearly drops his phone in surprise.

 

_is it because of you and Isak?_

_What???_

_What do you mean?_

_your thing with Isak_

_you know what I’m talking about_

 

_How do you know about that?_

 

_He told us_

_Wait_

_Oh shit was he not supposed to tell us_

 

 

_No, it’s chill._

_What did he say though?_

 

_Idk._

_He just said that you were like hot and cold._

_Fuck_

_Yeah u better fix that shit_

_How_

_Just be real and get that dick. Quote by Henrik Ibsen._

Even doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

He waits long enough that Magnus ignores his lack of response.

_So what’s up with tomorrow?_

 

_I want to._

_I just have to go to a stupid social group thing._

_For real this time?_

_jkjk_

_thought you said the other media students were losers tho_

_My classmates are dicks._

_Okay???_

_No it’s just gonna be fucking long._

_bro just come later?_

_I’ll fwd you the address_

_I’ll try._

_Just don’t tell Isak I’m coming._

_your funeral tbh_

_Yeah yeah. Later._

_oh_

_and be fucking nicer to him tomorrow bro_

_seriously_

_#shoveltalk_

 

_Good chatting with you Mags_

 

-

 

The next day, Even spends his lectures thinking about what he’ll say to Isak. He may be surprised that Isak told Magnus and Mahdi about them, but a part of him also takes hope in it—like, it means a lot that Isak thought he was important enough to want to talk about.

 

(The darker part of him says _he thinks you’re too hot and cold. Too up and down. Remind you of anyone?_ He shoves the dark part of him to the back of his mind.)

 

Even plans the whole thing out in his head. How he’ll sweep into the party after the screening, just when Isak has given up on him coming, and they’ll lock eyes with each other across the room, and that’ll be it. He’ll smile, and Isak will smile, and Even will say _sorry for blowing you off earlier this week, let me make it up to you_ , and Isak will be convinced by Even’s earnest eyes…

 

Okay, maybe not.

 

He thinks about it too much, to the point where he despairs of saying anything at all. He thinks about it during lunch with his dad, and he thinks about it when he reheats chilli for dinner. By the time he gets to the auditorium for the screening, he’s imagined every possible scenario, and kind of resents that he has to spend the next few hours watching student films instead of pregaming with Isak in the kitchen. It would be so, so much easier to talk to him in that kind of setting.

 

But instead, he has to go to Rosebud.

 

It’s exactly what he expected.

 

Even’s just wondering how soon he can sneak out when the lights go down for the sixth film of the evening. The last five have been nothing special—nothing Even hadn’t seen from the guys he knew at Bakka, to be honest. He’s just prepared himself from another amateur production from some fucking first year media studies losers when the first scene opens.

 

At first, Even can’t tell what’s happening. The screen is split right down the middle, into two panels. On each side, a girl goes about her day, doing all of the exact same things—but the world around her is different.

 

He watches as shot by shot, the two panels match each other—the clocks reading 06:24, the street with the bus going by in the corner of the frame at the exact same moment. And the shots—well, the shots themselves are beautiful. Perfectly framed and lit, with interesting angles, painstakingly reconstructed between the two scenes.

 

In one screen, it is Wednesday, and the girl goes to work. On the other, it is Thursday, and the girl goes to work. She buys the same coffee and rides the same bus, but on Wednesday it rains and on Thursday her playlist shuffles the songs differently. On Wednesday she doesn’t meet the man of her dreams because he’s stuck in traffic. On Thursday he makes it into her elevator before the doors close.

 

Even’s fascinated by it. It’s like _Sliding Doors_ —except that it’s not about a woman’s choices over one day changing everything, like Isak’s alternate universe theory. It’s about how someone can make the exact same choices and still have things go differently because _people are not in control_. The universe is in control.

 

The film is barely ten minutes long, but Even finds himself enraptured. When the credits roll, he finds himself noting down the names of the students involved. He’s already composing an email to them in his head about how they matched the shots and why he would have trimmed the final shots by a few frames, maybe pulled back sooner.

 

It’s the most excited he’s felt about movies since he came to UiO.

 

He feels more like himself than he has in weeks. Inspired.

 

He excuses himself as the lights go down again, and gets the hell out of there.

-

 

Magnus’s friend’s place is nicer than Even expected. The apartment is all crisp open spaces and furniture he’s pretty sure isn’t just IKEA’s finest. Mags said that Schistad, the guy who invited them, was kind of loaded, but it’s still kind of surprising. Guys their age shouldn’t be allowed to live in places like this.

 

He sees Magnus straight away, leaning against a wall near the entryway as he talks to Vilde. Her eyes are lit up as she listens, leaning in close to him. Even salutes him, but doesn’t interrupt. He’s still not totally sure what’s going on, there.

 

The living room proves full of people, but no Isak. There are dancing bodies everywhere, loud music playing… it doesn’t really seem like Isak’s scene, but Even checks anyway.

 

Right in the middle of the dancefloor, Even stumbles into Eva and Jonas. Eva is dancing, twisting in Jonas’s arms, and he seems pretty content to just go with it, resting his hands on her hips and letting her guide him.

 

He raises an impressive eyebrow at Even when he spots him, only giving Even the briefest of hellos. He does, however, incline his head towards a nearby doorway.

 

Isak.

 

Even smiles at Jonas and pushes through the crowd towards the kitchen. It’s less crowded than the living room—or, at the very least, is quieter. Even spots Isak straight away, leaning against a countertop with a can of Tuborg in his hands. He wants to go over there, say something… but Isak isn’t alone.

 

An attractive guy stands next to him, saying something that makes Isak break into one of his shy, close-mouthed smiles. It’s nothing scandalous—they’re not even standing very close—but the scene makes Even hesitate before approaching.

 

What if Isak hasn’t responded because he’s not been thinking about Even? What if _Isak_ decided that the drama wasn’t worth it?

 

(What if last weekend didn’t really mean that much to him?)

 

No. He can’t let himself think like that.

 

Before Even can second guess himself again, he strides over. Isak glances towards him, then almost comically does a double take.

 

“Hello,” Even says.

 

Isak seems surprised to see him, and Even doesn’t blame him. He bravados it out, though, because that’s what he does best. Sticks a charming smile on his face and runs with it.

 

“Hello.” Isak doesn’t sound angry. Just confused.

 

The guy next to him looks between Isak and Even with a smirk.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

 Maybe he isn’t aware that he’s in the middle of something awkward. He doesn’t seem to care.

 

Isak gestures between them both, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Even.

 

“Chris, this is Even. Even, Chris.”

 

Chris surprises Even by reaching out to shake his hand with one of those bro-handshakes. Even tries not to squeeze his hand too hard.

 

“Ah. The boyfriend?” Chris asks.

 

And that’s… okay. So, Isak definitely has been busy. Telling Magnus and Mahdi is one thing, but… this guy?

 

 _Maybe he really was hitting on him_ , the treacherous voice in the back of his mind says.

 

After all, Isak is pretty quick to set Chris straight.

 

“No! We’re… uh. No, we’re not together.”

 

He looks down at his drink, then, looking kind of embarrassed.

 

It’s now or never, then.

 

Even doesn’t even have to think before he says it, just steps closer to Isak and looks Chris in the eyes. He tries to be chill about it, because he’s not sure how Isak will take it.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Isak freezes up next to him. Even stays casual, taking a beer bottle from the box next to Isak’s elbow.

 

He doesn’t miss how Isak holds himself away from him.

 

“I’m working on it,” he says, once he’s opened his bottle. Chris laughs openly at them—but he sounds genuinely pleased, now.

 

“Yeah, good luck, bro,” Chris says to him, nodding his head toward Isak. Isak is staring at Even like he’s grown a second head.

 

“Thanks.” Even is sincere about it. He hopes Isak knows that.

 

But apparently he doesn’t, because once Chris makes his excuses—and, Even sees with relief, goes to flirt with a pretty girl almost immediately—Isak grabs Even’s hand and pulls him out of the kitchen into the hallway. There are a couple of people milling around drunk, waiting for the bathroom, but it’s quieter here.  

 

Even definitely does not look at the closed bedroom doors around them. Not at all.

 

Isak drops his hand.

 

“Are you messing with me?” he demands, and Even can’t stop the flicker of offence from crossing his face.

 

“I’d never joke about that, Isak.”

 

The look Even gets in return is so unimpressed.

 

“Boyfriend? Really?”

 

“Yes, Isak.”

 

“You’ve been blowing me off, though.”

 

“I know,” Even says. All of the things that have been going through his head the past week come rushing back. He can’t even begin explaining them to Isak.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Isak says. Even can’t read his face at all. “It’s chill if it was just a… one-off.”

 

A one-off? Is he serious? That’s not at all what Even wants. He doesn’t think it’s what Isak wants, either, but Isak’s face gives nothing away.

 

“We’ve been together twice,” is all Even can think to say. Isak shrugs, now.

 

“Yeah, well,” Isak replies. “I don’t count the first time.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

It does, actually.

 

“It doesn’t matter to you?”

 

Isak rolls his eyes, now, big and dramatic.

 

“Fucking hell, you’re so frustrating!”

 

Well. He isn’t wrong.

 

Even’s not doing this the right way. This really isn’t how he’d planned it.

 

Isak’s hand curls into a fist at his side, and Even thinks about it before he reaches out. He holds their hands up high in front of them, and uncurls his fingers one by one. One by one, he entwines them with his own.

 

 _Palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss,_ he thinks.

 

“Hey.” Even lowers his voice. He hadn’t meant to get Isak so riled up.

 

Isak looks down at his own hand like he’s never seen it before.

 

“Are you actually serious, right now?” He says. “With this?

 

Even nods.

 

Isak still seems guarded. Unconvinced.

 

“Have you been drinking?”

 

“No. I just got here,” Even says.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Have you?” Even wants to be sure. He doesn’t want any confusion over this.

 

“Not really. I had maybe two beers and a shot or something. I don’t know.”

 

Isak exhales slowly. Waits. And—

 

“I’m sorry,” Even says at last. He realises as he apologizes that he hadn’t said that yet, which… okay, he needs to do better.

 

“I freaked out,” he tells Isak. “I’m sorry. Last weekend was really intense.”

 

Isak looks like he wants to say _no shit._ He shrugs instead.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yeah. I just… I really haven’t felt anything like that. Before.”

 

It comes out stilted, but he keeps his eyes on Isak. Isak looks back, and then he huffs, trying to hide the smile that’s threatening to take over his face.

 

“Me neither,” he says at last.

 

He lets their hands drop down between them, but he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t look away.

 

And then, like a movie unfolding in front of Even’s eyes, Isak slowly tips back his head, tilts his face like he’s asking for a kiss.

 

He’s such a fucking menace.

 

It’s the chin tilt that tells Even he’s in the clear. Even sees it, and instinct takes over—he tilts his own face down to meet it. He takes a single step into Isak’s space and presses a careful kiss to his mouth. Isak sags into him. It’s not dirty, or angry, or anything like the kisses in the movies. It’s just something small and still and theirs. It lingers, just the two of them joined together, sharing the space.

 

When Isak pulls away, he’s blushing. Even wants to fucking jump up and down.

 

“Ugh,” he says. “Why is this like this?”

 

Even knows exactly what he means. It’s so much, already.

 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Even asks. Isak looks hesitant still, and Even shrugs.

 

“Or we could stay,” he tries. He doesn’t want to push.

 

“We could stay,” Isak echoes. “But this party sucks.”

 

He squeezes Even’s hand.

 

“I brought my bike,” Even says.

 

\--

 

Even pedals through the neighbourhoods of Oslo with his heart feeling light. Isak is giving him another chance. Isak is here, now, with him. The breeze makes his eyes sting as he lets the bike roll downhill, and his ears are cold under his hood, but he can feel the warmth of Isak at his back, and it’s so exhilarating. He cycles around for a while, just aimless, laughing at Isak’s commentary from the back of the bike, going where he’s pointed—and then he switches out and lets Isak take over at the helm, claims he’s sober enough to take charge.

 

The view from the back of the bike is even better. Isak’s face lit up by street lamps, his laughing face as he glances back.

 

Even films it for his snapchat story, and then can’t bear to post it and share it with the whole world.

 

He sends it to Magnus, instead.

 

Ten minutes later, Isak suddenly steers right and nearly throws them off, and Even ends up having to sit down on the pavement edge because he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. Isak lets the bike’s wheels spin and flops down next to him, trying to defend himself against Even’s teasing.

 

Anyone driving by would think they were nuts.

 

“There was a _rabbit_ ,” he protests, and Even, still laughing, kisses the indignant look off of his face just because he can. He’d forgotten about this. How good it can feel just to laugh into somebody else’s laugh, like you’re giving them your happiness. He kisses Isak’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead, tiny smacking pecks that make Isak squirm and laugh under him.

 

“What kind of rabbit?” he asks, when Isak finally wrestles him away with protests of _stop, oh my god, Even!_ Isak pretends to think about it.

“A… white one,” he says.

 

“Maybe he was late,” Even says. Isak shakes his head.

 

Well. Not everyone can get Even’s references.

 

Even’s tickled by it nonetheless. “For a very important date?”

 

Isak shakes his head, screwing his face up in adorable confusion.

 

“Come on! What movie?” Even laughs, and Isak rolls his eyes.

 

“What is wrong with you?” he jokes, and Even has to kiss him again.

 

Isak pulls him in this time, his hand in Even’s hair. He can feel Isak running his fingers through it

 

“Come on,” Isak finally says. “It’s fucking cold. Why are we always outside?”

 

It’s a good question, Even thinks.

 

He lets Isak pull him to his feet (and ignores Isak’s complaints that Even’s _heavy_ , because— _really_ , that’s _ridiculous_ , Isak) and kisses him once more for luck.

 

\--

 

The ride back to Bjølsen is peaceful. The night is quiet, lights out in so many of the houses all around them. Even gets that feeling, again, that it’s just him and Isak alone in the universe.

 

Maybe things will always be like that, between them.

 

It’s close to midnight, now, so there aren’t too many places they could just hang out. Instead of going to the common area, though, Isak heads to his bedroom—or, at least, a locked door that Even assumes is his. There’s a laminated sign on the door next door that says _do not disturb_ , decorated with a worryingly Eskild-esque emoji sticker collection.

 

Isak hesitates by the door, and Even bites his lip.

 

“Are you gonna ask me in?”

 

Isak smiles, now.

 

“No, I’m not that kind of boy.”

 

Even isn’t worried—the look on Isak’s face tells him everything he needs to know.

 

“You’re such a bad liar,” Even says, and leans in to kiss Isak’s cheek.

 

Isak blushes, leaning back against the doorframe.

 

“I just don’t want to rush things,” he says.

 

“Okay.”

 

“But you could stay for a bit,” he says, and Even can’t help but grin.

 

“Really?”

 

“It’s not that late,” Isak says, now. “We could just… chill.”

 

“Chill, no Netflix?”

 

“Chill, no Netflix,” Isak confirms, unlocking the door.

 

It swings open.

 

 

 


	7. stay and chill, you don't need to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want me to convince you?” Isak asks. 
> 
> Isak shifts a little, a devious look on his face, and—
> 
> Oh. Right. Even could be convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this one, if I don't want to sound like a broken record. I hope you guys are still enjoying it--let me know in the comments if you are, and please God never tell me if you're not ;)
> 
> I will recommend, however, that you check out my fave imminentinertia's [brand new Oslo/Norway primer for SKAM writers](https://itswinetodaybutpisstomorrow.tumblr.com/post/157944408668/skamguideforficwriters). This lady has been the best Scandi-picker/beta/cheerleader/friend to me writing this fic and she KNOWS HER SHIT. If you're interested in writing fic for this fandom--and reader, you should! You should do it!--then this is the best place to start your research <3

 

- 

 

Being inside Isak’s room is like entering a parallel universe.

 

One where Even could be anybody—just any teenage boy in any city in the world, sitting on his crush’s bed. There’s the mess on Isak’s floor, the stale smell of constantly-closed windows, the faded yellow curtains that don’t quite block out the light from the courtyard outside.

 

It feels like a dream, almost, except that when Even wakes up the next morning he still feels like he’s stepped into a teen movie. This is the moment where they realise that oops, they fell asleep, the moment where he looks down at a beautiful boy as he sleeps and sees the softness in his face and falls deeper and deeper. It’s such a fucking cliché, as narratives go.

 

But Isak looks so peaceful.

 

His lips are parted just enough for Even to see his teeth, cute even if they’re too-widely spaced. His face is rosy and warm from sleeping in his hoodie. Even lets himself look, because it makes him feel calmer, somehow.

 

“Stop staring at me.”

 

Isak’s voice startles him—makes Even pull back his hand, which was slowly but surely making its way towards a curl in Isak’s hair. Shit. Isak’s going to think he’s a weirdo.

 

“You’re awake,” Even says. Isak opens his eyes, and—yes, they’re clear and bright. Beautiful up close like this.

 

“I woke up before you,” Isak responds. He shuffles towards Even, snuffling into the space under his chin like he’s burrowing for warmth.

 

He grabs Even’s hand, and deliberately puts it in his hair, and Even smiles. Okay, then. He runs his fingers through it, and Isak hums, content.

 

“We fell asleep,” Isak says, muffled into Even’s clothes.

 

“Is that okay?” Even asks.

 

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

 

Even leans in to kiss him, bad breath and all.

 

“Okay,” he says, then stretches. “What time is it?”

 

Isak fishes for his phone, charging on the floor next to the bed. As he leans over, his t-shirt rides up to reveal a pale sliver of his back.

 

“8:20,” Isak says when he turns back to the bed. “Ugh.”

 

“What?” Even asks, as Isak flings a dramatic arm across his face.

 

“Eskild will be in the shower,” Isak says. “He literally takes hours.”

 

“Too many hair products?” Even laughs.

 

“I wish,” Isak replies. “Last week I walked in on him showering with a guy I’m pretty sure didn’t even speak Norwegian.”

 

His reaction is kind of cute. All prudish and scandalized.  


“Really?” Even murmurs.

 

“Yeah, it was scarring.” Isak pretends to shudder.

 

“Not even a little bit sexy?”

 

“No!” Isak says scornfully. “What do you take me for?”

 

Even laughs at that, loving how the grumpy expression disappears from Isak’s face. Like Even’s smile makes him happy, too. It’s the best kind of feedback loop.

 

“So, you don’t wanna return the favor, then?” Even suggests.

 

“He’d enjoy it too much,” Isak replies immediately, then stops. He bites his lip, like he’s imagining it now—the two of them standing naked and wet, pressed against the tiles…

 

“But…” he says. “Payback would be pretty chill.”

 

Out in the hallway, Even hears the sound of a door slamming. The shower starts up, and faintly, Even hears Eskild singing to himself.

 

“Next time,” Even says, and pulls Isak in to kiss some more.

 

-

 

 

They spend the next few days in and out of Isak’s bed. Each morning, Even wakes up to find Isak playing games on his phone, just waiting for Even to open his eyes for a good morning kiss.

 

They don’t really go out anywhere, but Even chalks that up to the fact that Isak is just newly out of the closet. Every time Even suggests going anywhere, Isak says he’s too tired, and it’s not like neither of them see other people. Even sees Magnus and Vilde in the silo, and Isak has his bro time with Jonas. And Isak goes to class and Even sometimes goes to class and in between they just spend a lot of time lying there, talking about everything and nothing, teasing each other. It feels new, still, but at the same time Even feels like he’s known Isak forever. Is that crazy?

 

Even tries not to second guess it. Isak seems to have forgiven him for last week, and they’re still ostensibly going slow… but it’s hard to go slow when you’re this happy.

 

 _This is what happiness is,_ he tells himself on Thursday morning. Happiness is lying in Isak’s bed, wearing his clothes, and eating his secret stash of Non Stop. Even would stay there forever… if Isak would only let him.

 

“Don’t you have lectures to go to?”

 

“Fuck lectures.”

 

“I’m serious!”

 

“So am I. We could just stay in bed all day.”

 

“Ugh. Yes. But I have to go to intro to chemistry.” Isak yawns, then looks at Even. “Don’t even say it.”

 

Even wiggles his eyebrows.

 

“Or you could just stay,” Even says again. “Get the notes off of creepy Julian.”

 

“You remember about him?” Isak asks, then shakes his head. “Noooo. Studies show that you learn more by going to lectures, Even.”

 

Even tries out a put-upon sigh, then laughs as Isak begins to pout.

 

“You like your classes that much?” he says, and Isak laughs too.

 

“Don’t you?” he asks.

 

It’s meant to be rhetorical, Even thinks, so he bites back the _god no_ that is his instinctive reaction.

 

“Did you email those people yet?” Isak asks, when Even says nothing. “Those film people?”

 

“No,” Even says—because he hasn’t. “I don’t know if I should bother them.”

 

Yesterday, he’d told Isak all about the Sliding Doors film, how it reminded him of Isak’s parallel universes. He’s still thinking about it, even now, but he feels weird about emailing the people who made it. They’ll be graduated by now, or close to it. The last thing they’ll want is a first year undergrad fanboying over something they made forever ago.

 

Isak comes over to the bed and sits down right on top of his legs. Not even in a sexy way-just right on him, like a sack of potatoes.

 

“Ouch!”

 

“Come on,” Isak says, ignoring him. “You send your email, I’ll go to chemistry, and then at lunch we can meet back here.”

 

“I don’t know,” Even hedges.

 

“Do you want me to convince you?” Isak asks.

 

Even raises his eyebrows.

 

“What?”

 

Isak shifts a little, a devious look on his face, and—

 

Oh. Right. Even could be convinced.

 

Isak settles into a more comfortable position for Even, and kisses him, his mouth tasting of the coffee and sugar.

 

It’s kind of weird, but in a good way—Isak’s fully dressed in his hoodie and jacket, and Even’s only wearing a pair of boxers. Not even his own boxers, probably. But Even kisses him back, happily opens his mouth and lets Isak slip him some tongue. He pulls Isak in closer to his body, and then Isak trails his hand over Even’s underwear and gives his dick a casual grope. A hello-hi-you’re-here sort of grope. It’s not the sexiest thing in the world—like, in any universe—but Even strains forward for more.

 

Isak breaks away from the kiss to smile down at Even’s body.

 

“Good morning,” he says, then slips his hand under the fabric of Even’s boxers. His thumb traces a circle around the head of Even’s cock, and then he pulls him out, wraps his whole palm around the shaft. He really likes this—Even knows that already. Likes feeling Even jump in his hands, getting harder all because of him.

 

“Did you just say good morning to my penis?” He asks, trying for a joke, but—who is he kidding? It’s really doing it for him.

 

Isak strokes him slow, but tight.

 

“I have to go in five minutes,” Isak warns. Even narrows his eyes.

 

“You want me to come on demand?” Even says.

 

“Yep,” Isak says, and Even sees the hint of bravado in his expression, but doesn’t call him on it. He likes this, goddamnit.

 

“You might wanna…” Even feels the next stroke in his toes. God, why is Isak going so slowly? “Speed up a bit. If you want me to make my deadline.” His breaths are getting shallower. He knows Isak can tell.

 

“You can’t get there like this?” Isak asks. Devious little shit. Even can see it in his eyes—he’s not going to go any faster.

 

“Isak,” Even groans.

 

“Maybe,” Isak says, ducking in to press a quick kiss to Even’s neck, “maybe you should think about what I’ll do later.”

 

“Later?”

 

Even hopes Isak isn’t trying to make him talk dirty. That will not end well for anybody.

 

“Yep,” Isak says again. He’s blushing as he says it—Even can tell that even with his eyes closed. He makes himself look at Isak anyway, because it makes him feel more grounded.

Yes. Isak’s expression is priceless.

 

“Are you going to tell me?” Even asks. Isak’s next stroke is a good one. “Or—or am I going to have to guess?”

 

He keeps stroking, looking a little flushed with all of his layers on. His breathing is just as heavy as Even’s—he can see the outline of him straining against his jeans. And Even—he just really wants to touch him. Wants to turn the tables and get Isak all hot and bothered beneath him, just straight up fuck him up and send him to class like—

 

Even can’t take it.

 

He pushes Isak’s coat down off his shoulders.

 

Isak manages only a token objection before Even is pulling up his hoodie, undoing his jeans and taking him out, sucking Isak’s dick into his mouth.

 

“Holy fuck,” Isak says, burying his hands in Even’s hair. Even looks up and he retracts them, bringing them to rest on Even’s shoulders, instead. This is the first time Isak has done it, so he doesn’t know—but Even likes it, actually. Hands in his hair. As long as it’s not rough, sometimes he just likes the feel of being guided into place.

 

“Mm.” Even can’t say much. Too busy sucking dick like his life depends on it. He breathes and breathes and swallows as much of Isak as he can, hollowing his cheeks until Isak is gasping above him.

 

“Fuck,” Isak says again, and Even keeps working him in his mouth. Feels the weight of Isak, heavy and warm on his tongue.

 

Even doesn’t think Isak is going to last long—and he isn’t wrong about it. It’s barely five minutes before Isak is going off in his mouth, but he comes so suddenly that Even is almost surprised by it, and doesn’t have time to do much more than swallow, spluttering as he does so.

 

When he looks back at Isak’s face, he’s red as fuck, hiding his face in his hands.

 

“How was that for your deadline?” Even teases, and Isak groans, standing up to inspect clothes. Finding them miraculously clean, he zips up his jeans and tugs his coat back on.

 

“Oh my God,” is all he says, and Even grins. Isak is too cute when he’s embarrassed. Even doesn’t even care that Isak’s going to class, now, because at least he’ll be able to finish off thinking about that face.

 

“Send your email,” Isak says, then he leaves the room, hitting the doorframe hard with his shoulder on the way out.

 

Even would laugh…

 

But he has more pressing matters at hand.

 

\--

 

 

 **To:** dhandreassen@mail.uio.no, nskjeflo@mail.uio.no, erkornberg@mail.uio.no

 **Subject:** Today/Tomorrow screening

 

_Dear Daniel, Nina, and Emilie_

_~~We watched your film this week in Rosebud and I really enjoyed it~~ _

__

_~~Your film really reminded me of Sliding Doors~~ _

__

_~~My boyfriend said I should write because I can’t stop telling him about~~ _

__

_My name is Even Bech Næsheim and I’m a first year at UiO. Our class recently watched your first year film Today/Tomorrow at Rosebud. I thought it was really great and I wondered if you ever made a longer version of it or did anything with it? I’ve also been thinking about how you matched the shots for the two panels—how long did that take you to film, and what equipment did you use? Sorry for all the questions, feel free to tell me to get lost or something haha._

_I hope these are the right email addresses to use, I don’t know if you are still at UiO but I found them in the student directory. You don’t have to answer, I just wanted to say that the film was really cool, so thanks for making it._

_Even Bech Næsheim_

Ugh. This is making Even cringe.

 

He sort of hates every draft that he writes of the email, but Isak texts him twice from his lecture to ask if he’s sent it yet. _How hard can it be?_ Isak texts. _Just charm them like you charm everyone._

 

Right. Huh. Even is sort of touched that Isak thinks he’s charming. Even doesn’t think of himself as charming. On good days, he mostly thinks of himself as a dreamer who mostly runs on bravado and bullshit.

 

But he promised Isak that he’d send the email, and he’d promised himself that he’d try to find some sort of film community, and honestly—that film is the most he’s enjoyed his programme since he started at UiO.

 

He never imagined he’d end up here.

 

He’d had all of these plans for film school. To get his BFA in directing. He’d been all set to apply to the Norwegian Film School, and had imagined life in Lillehammer down to the smallest of details. He hadn’t even considered that it might be a long shot—that the programme only took six students. He’d known he was good enough.

 

But he never got the chance to find out. During his last episode, he’d tanked his chances at getting in by sending the admissions director a series of completely unprofessional emails—euphoric and rambling and aggressive. He’d sent an apology, after the depression had passed, but the damage was done. And when his parents suggested he apply somewhere with less pressure—Even had eventually caved. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d ruined everything by wanting it so much.

 

It’s taken him nearly a year to stop being mad at himself. He hates the feeling that he settled for this path, finds himself sitting in class resenting it all and then circling back around to blame himself again. Sitting here with the email in front of him, though? He feels nervous. And if he feels nervous?

 

Well, that means he cares about this.

 

Isak sends another message through— _done. I’m coming back <3_—and Even makes up his mind. He can want things, now. He can let himself want things.

 

He presses send.

 

 

\---

 

With his appointment with Iver the next morning, Even suggests that they spend Thursday night in their own beds.

 

It doesn’t stop them from seeing each other—all it means is that, after watching a movie in Isak’s room, Even has to make the walk back to the silo in the rain and spend at least an hour tossing and turning because his room feels weirdly quiet.

 

He stays up texting Isak until three in the morning, but he doesn’t tell Iver that.

 

At their Friday morning session, the psychiatrist commends Even for making meaningful connections, but warns him against investing too heavily in one single person. To the detriment of his own wellbeing, is the phrase he uses. Even listens—of course he does—but he and Isak have only been together a week, if they’re even putting a label on things yet. They’re in the honeymoon period. Even’s glad his doctor is young and open-minded enough for it not to be weird to tell him about the finer details of their relationship.

 

“Have you thought about telling Isak about your diagnosis?” Iver asks, halfway through Even’s ramblings about Isak’s hair in the mornings.

 

Even isn’t ready for that.

 

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it, but still. One week. Even doesn’t want to burst the bubble just yet.

 

“If he doesn’t know,” Iver says. “Then just be sure you’re not isolating yourself from your support system.”

 

It’s a fair comment. They are spending kind of a lot of time together, and Even admits as much. Iver recommends they spend time together with other people, which doesn’t seem like the worst idea—because Even likes his friends, he really does.

 

He just likes alone time with Isak more.

 

He thinks about it a lot, the rest of the day, as he tries to get through his seminar class without obviously zoning out. About telling Isak. What being with Isak will mean, in the long run. It’s one thing to want to be with Isak, but does he need to prepare him for the worst? When is the right time to tell him?

 

That night, he convinces Isak to hang in the Bjølsen kitchen with the others, who are trying to agree on a plan for Halloween. Eskild, Vilde, and Eva are keen to host a big party, but Noora and Mahdi surprise everyone by teaming up.

 

“Too much cleanup,” Noora says. “I do enough washing already with these grubby boys around.”

 

She gives Eskild and Isak a pointed look, and Eskild gasps back in faux-offense. Isak just shrugs—he knows what he’s like.

 

“Okay, but we can’t go out anywhere good,” Jonas chips in. “It’s Halloween, we want to drink the good stuff.”

 

“Eskild can buy stuff,” Noora argues.

 

“Or Even,” Magnus says, practically without thinking.

 

En masse, all the heads in the room turn to look at him.

 

“Uh, sure,” he says. A moment of silence follows.

 

“You’re 20?” Even isn’t sure if Vilde _means_ to sound irritated, but she sort of does. Which—okay, it’s not Even’s fault this hasn’t come up before.

 

He nods slowly, like it’s obvious.

 

“That’s why I’m so mature.” The others laugh, and Even relaxes into Isak on the sofa.

 

“Hello!” Eva says. “You could have been buying us good shit this whole time?”

 

Well, sure. Except that he’s not going to be drinking it.

 

“Typical,” Eskild sighs. “Isak’s been gay for five minutes and he’s got himself a hot older boyfriend.”

 

Everyone laughs more, and Even feels Isak tense up next to him. He doesn’t know if it’s the _gay_ or the _boyfriend_ that Isak is reacting to, but Isak doesn’t contradict either of them, which—Even feels proud. He kisses Isak on the temple, ignoring the catcalls and focusing on how the tension bleeds back out of him.

 

They eventually come to a compromise—pregame at Bjølsen, party somewhere else. Vilde orders them all into constant vigilance to be on the lookout for something cool to attend.

 

Even doesn’t really care where they go. He’s too busy trying to convince Magnus against group costumes. The more beer Magnus drinks, the more outlandish his costume suggestions get. Vilde is just as bad, trying to convince Eskild to do drag.

 

The night passes quickly, and before Even knows it, everyone is sleepy and tipsy and wandering off to bed. He’s just finished having a conversation with Noora in the kitchen about the new Ghostbusters movie—Even respectfully declines dressing up as Chris Hemsworth’s character to complete her outfit plans—when Sana comes in to say goodbye.

 

“Goldilocks is passed out again,” she tells Even, once Noora has hugged her.

 

He looks into the living area, where, yep: Isak is asleep on the same sofa he started on. He doesn’t look like he’s moved.

 

It’s—oh. It’s actually the first time Even has really seen Isak sleeping. Isak’s always late to sleep, early to wake, it seems. He looks so sweetly vulnerable, curled up there.

 

“He’s just sleeping,” Even says. “He’ll wake up once everyone leaves.”

 

She pulls a face, and Even realises she’s actually serious about this. Whatever it is.

 

“He was ‘just sleeping’ yesterday too. I don’t understand why guys think it’s cool to drink so much.”

 

“He wasn’t even drinking a lot, though.” Even is confused.

 

Sana looks completely unconvinced.

 

Even’s actually kind of impressed at how much that one facial expression just conveyed. Sana would make an amazing silent film actress… although right now, in real life, he finds her kind of judgmental.

 

“Well, whatever,” she says. “Somebody needs to put him to bed before his neck stays like that forever.”

 

She studies Isak with a practiced eye. In fairness to her, he does look ridiculous. He’s sunk down into the sofa, phone still in his hand and head lolling forward without any support. It probably isn’t very comfortable, but Even still doesn’t see why she’s making a fuss about it.

 

“Somebody?”

 

“You, Even. Who else?”

 

“It’s chill, Sana. He’s just napping.”

 

Sana starts to look impatient now, and Even looks to Noora for help. She shrugs, leaving them to it.

 

“Look,” Sana tries. “I’ve only known him a few months, but I can already tell you he’s not making it to his room tonight if he’s left by himself.”

 

“Okay, then, you wake him up.” He doesn’t know why they’re having this conversation.

 

“Uh, like I could carry him? No, he needs you to make sure he gets there.”

 

_What the fuck?_

 

“Carry him? Seriously?”

 

“Last week I came to visit Noora and he was sleeping in the hallway outside his room. I do not trust him to get back on his own.”

 

And—okay. That doesn’t sound normal. But her attitude is starting to grate on Even. Maybe he’s been on the other side, too much, of people not trusting him to know what’s best for him. Isak’s just sleeping, for God’s sake. It’s not some big emergency.

 

Still, he feels his chest twinge at the thought of Isak sleeping alone on the floor.

 

“You’re acting like… I don’t know, like he needs taking care of. “

 

Sana stares him down.

 

“Sometimes people need people, Even,” she says, her voice raising with frustration.

 

They stand there for a moment in stalemate.

 

“Sanaaaaa,” thankfully, Isak’s whine from the chair resolves everything. He blinks open his eyes—and God, he’s fucking adorable. “Why are you so loud?”

 

Sana pats Even on the arm, like she’s nudging him to action.

 

“Shall we go to bed?” Even asks Isak, rolling his eyes at her. “Away from our nosy friends?”

 

Isak frowns, and reaches out for Even to pull him to his feet. He collides into Even’s chest with a soft _oompf_ that has Even smiling to himself. Sana must slip away, but he barely notices her go, too focused on steering Isak so that he doesn’t walk into any walls on his sleepy path back to his bedroom.

 

“Where’s your key?” He says, and Isak grumbles at him as he pulls it out of his pocket and Even unlocks the door.

 

But he lets Even guide him to the bed, tug off his shoes, and throw the duvet over him.

 

With his jaw slack, he even tilts his chin for a goodnight kiss as Even clambers into bed beside him. Even takes him in—the freckle above his mouth, the bags under his eyes. This strange and sweet and grumpy person who is letting him into his life.

 

“Best boyfriend,” Isak sighs, before he drops back into sleep.

 

 

 

 


	8. i've been waking up tight day after day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you gonna fuck me?” Isak asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me!
> 
> Thanks, as ever to imminentinertia for being my second-in-command--if you haven't read her [Norway/Oslo primer](https://itswinetodaybutpisstomorrow.tumblr.com/post/157944408668/skamguideforficwriters) yet, y'all are missing out. A billion thanks also to the new friends on Tumblr and elsewhere who've been so supportive of this fic. You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Even if you don't want to write me a comment--if you liked this, please go [VOTE FOR EVAK.](http://www.eonline.com/news/833507/tv-s-top-couple-2017-vote-in-the-top-2-now) It'd make me super happy <3

_-_

  
_To:_ [ _ebnaesheim@mail.uio.no_ _  
_ ](mailto:ebnaesheim@mail.uio.no) _From: <Nina Skjeflo> nskjeflo@mail.uio.no _

 

_Hi Even,_

 

_Sorry it took us a while to get back to you! We’re still at UiO, in our third year now, so we got your message fine don’t worry. It’s very cool to hear you liked Today/Tomorrow. We did make a longer version for some festivals which is here if you wanted to watch it:_

 

[ _https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzd_Z1LPHsE_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzd_Z1LPHsE)

 

_Daniel and I are actually test screening our new film next Wednesday to get ready for Oslo Film Fest in November. You should definitely come! It’d be cool to meet and chat in person. You can bring whoever you like. ☺_

 

_Hope to see you there!_

 

_Nina_

 

-

 

They’ve been at [ Oslo Camping Bar ](http://oslo-camping.no/) for an hour when the email comes in, and Even hangs back to read it between holes. Even had started to think he was never going to get a response, so he smiles to himself as he reads it.

 

Isak was right to make him do it.

 

The bar is pretty noisy for a Saturday afternoon—full of uni students getting a round in before it becomes over-20s only. The novelty of mini golf at a bar obviously hasn’t quite worn off, even in late October, and Even’s pretty sure the group in front of them are all incredibly stoned… which would probably be fun, now he thinks of it. If he were still smoking, that is.  

 

Lost in thought, Even misses Magnus spectacularly fucking up his shot. He can’t help laughing when he looks up to find his kitchenmate sheepishly fishing his ball from Hole 2’s windmill.

 

Magnus isn’t as bad at minigolf as Eva—nobody could be as bad as Eva, although Jonas has been hit twice already for saying as much—but Even’s half convinced Magnus is trying hard to be ridiculous to make Vilde laugh.

 

Isak, on the other hand, is pretty good at it. If Even were a better player, he might get competitive, but as it is, it’s just Isak and Vilde competing for victory.

 

Vilde’s kind of scary when she wants something.

 

“Hey bro.” Even’s reply to Nina is interrupted by Jonas.

 

Magnus’s windmill rescue is looking like it could take a while. Jonas and Even are the only ones who’ve taken their turns in this round, and Even can see it being a while before Isak and the girls get their go.

 

“Hey,” Even says back.

 

Jonas had surprised Even that morning, proposing the outing for the six of them. Even can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a triple date—a way to get him and Isak out together instead of holed up in Isak’s room, or a convenient way for Jonas to be on a date with Eva without actually asking her. He’s glad Jonas thought of it, though. Isak may not be holding his hand and kissing him ‘for luck’ like Vilde and Magnus are doing, but his little smile every time he puts the ball in is always directed straight at Even, like _look what your boy did._ Isak’s gloating is even weirdly endearing.

 

“You good?”

 

“Yeah, all good.”

 

“So, Isak seems like he’s doing better,” Jonas says. He says it with a casualness Even isn’t sure he really feels, nonchalant as he drops his voice so Isak doesn’t hear. He’s standing talking to Eva at the start of the hole.

 

Even is reminded that Jonas is Isak’s best friend. Ergo: Jonas probably knows everything.

 

Ergo: Jonas probably thinks he’s an idiot.

 

“Uh. Yeah?”

 

“I mean, no offense,” Jonas says. Even winces, almost in expectation of what’s to come. “But he was pretty fucked up last week.”

 

 _Here it comes_.

 

“Yeah, it was pretty shit all round,” Jonas continues, after Even just frowns in response. He doesn’t quite seem to notice Even’s discomfort—or, if he does, he’s doing a good job of ignoring it. “It’s good that he’s sleeping without pills again.”

 

_What?_

 

That isn’t what Even thought he was about to say.

 

And—sleeping pills?

 

This is the first he’s heard of it.

 

“Right,” Even says slowly. “Yeah, he’s sleeping better. But he’s still, uh.”

 

Even makes a gesture that he himself can barely interpret. Jonas, though, seems to read it as ‘ _still falling asleep on the sofa during group gatherings_.’ Or something. Even has no fucking clue.

 

“Oh, last night, you mean? Yeah, man, it’ll take a while for him to like, get his body clock back on track. It’s good you’re looking out for him though.”

 

Even feels like he’s missing some important information. Maybe this is what Sana was talking about yesterday, he realizes.

 

Did everybody know about this but him?

 

“Oh. Yeah, I mean,” he says, totally unconvincingly. “Uh, is there anything I should, like. Do?”

 

Jonas shrugs.

 

“I don’t know, bro. He saw the school nurse about it once, but he just said she told him to like, talk about his feelings and shit.”

 

“Right.”

 

And that’s the thing. Since Even pulled his head out of his ass… they haven’t really talked that much about anything. Not like they had that first day in his room after the pool. They’ve mostly laid together and talked about movies and made fun of each other and laughed and laughed—Isak hasn’t opened up again, even when he’s been quiet or tired or not wanted to do anything but lie there and cuddle. Why is that?

 

Even feels his heart start to sink. Falling like a stone through the cavity of his chest.

 

“Yeah, easier said than done, right?” Jonas continues. “Anyway. Thanks for being chill. I thought we were gonna have to stage an intervention, for a second there.”

 

“Thanks, Jonas,” Even murmurs. But Jonas is already looking away, to where Isak is lining up his club at the start of the hole.

 

“Oh, shit! Way to go, Issy!” Jonas shouts, then turns to Even with a grin he can’t return. “Come on, Romeo. Try and beat that hole in one!”

 

\--

 

The rest of the holes drag slowly—Even is practically competing with Magnus by the end, to see who can make the worst shots.

 

Isak teases him about losing his mojo, and Even smiles along, but he can’t stop thinking about what Jonas said. _It’s good you’re looking out for him_. Is that what he’s been doing?

 

When they finish the course, Isak graciously volunteers to take the clubs back—his concession to Vilde’s victory. While he’s gone, Even whips out his phone, leaving the other two couples to flirt amongst themselves.

 

There’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

 

 _Hey Mamma <3 _ _  
_ _I need some advice._

 _I just found out something about Isak_ _  
_ _that I’m worried about._

_And I don’t know how to bring it up_

 

_Hi baby. It’s good to hear from you._

 

_Sorry. I know it’s been a few days._

 

_ <3 _

_So, you went for it with Isak, then?_

 

_Yeah I guess I did._

 

 _!!!!_ _  
_ _I’m happy for you Even._

_But what did you find out?_

 

_I’m not sure what it is_

_But it sounds like he has insomnia_

_Maybe a stress thing_

 

_How did you find out about it?_

 

_His friend just told me._

_Idk it sounded serious._

 

_Good friend._

_Well, maybe it’s not as bad as the friend_ _  
_ _is making it sound?_

 

_Maybe._

_But what if it is?_

 

_Does he seem bad?_

  
_He’s been kind of stressed but I thought_ _  
that was just about us._

_What if I’m making it worse?_

 

_Honey._

_Let’s not jump to conclusions._

_I say this as someone who loves you._

_Please just ask him._

 

_I just feel bad he didn’t tell me._

 

_Maybe he didn’t think he had to._

_Does he know you are bipolar?_

 

-

 

Even closes the texting window.

 

About a minute later, Isak himself wanders back over to him. The golf clubs are nowhere to be seen.

 

“Hey,” Isak says, standing just far enough away to be casual.

 

Even tries to smile back at him, but he’s not sure he manages it.

 

“You good?” Isak raises an eyebrow, obviously noticing his weird behaviour.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 _No_ , Even thinks. _No, I’m freaking the fuck out._

 

“Okay… are we still eating at your place?”

 

“Uh, yes. Sure.”

 

Isak’s hand is shaking a little as he pulls out his phone to check the time. Even’s eyes track it like a goddamn hawk.

 

How did he miss this? Is he really so caught up in himself?

 

-

 

He keeps an eye on Isak in the days leading up to Halloween. If Isak notices he’s being weird, he doesn’t say anything. They still share a bed most nights, and still laugh and kiss and get off together, but now Even’s watching for the signs. The yawning, the mood swings, the clumsiness—yeah, he can use the internet as well as the next person, thanks. Isak does seem to be sleeping, at least, from what Even can tell… even if Even has to try extra hard to stay awake until he drifts off. The more he stays up to monitor Isak’s sleeping, though, the more he thinks about why Isak hasn’t said anything.

 

Because the more he watches Isak, the more he realizes that when the attention isn’t on him, Isak retreats into himself. He checks his phone _all the time_ , but never answers any of the calls from his father.

 

And there are a lot of calls from his father.

 

It’s fine, really, that Isak hasn’t talked to him about it. That’s what he tells himself. Or it would be, if Even thought Isak was talking to anyone at all.  

 

His mamma thinks he’s taking it too far, getting too involved in it. She says as much when he has lunch with her on Monday, but Even waves her off, and talks about all the reasons he likes Isak, instead.

 

He talks about the night before, when Isak had beaten him at video games and then crowed for a solid half an hour, and about the way Isak comes back excited about some molecular biology thing and tries to explain it to him bit by bit. He like that Isak will watch any movie with him, and will be honest if he thinks it’s a pretentious piece of crap, but will listen to him talk about it anyway. He likes Isak’s grumpy face and his long-suffering eye rolls at Eskild, and how he’s secretly the biggest sap underneath his cool-guy exterior.

 

Even has seen that tough façade in action a few times, now, and he’s just fascinated by it. Fascinated and sad about it, to be honest. It sucks that Isak ever thought he had to build those walls. He talks about Isak’s taste in music, the rapping, the secret love of Jason Mraz.

 

Eventually, his mamma holds up her hands like _enough! Enough!_

 

“You really like this boy,” she says. She doesn’t sound happy, or sad—it’s just an observation. Direct in the way that his mamma has always known how to be. His dad was always the more emotional of the two.

 

“You should tell him,” she says, and Even looks away. For a moment, talking about Isak, he forgets his own diagnosis. He’s not someone living with bipolar. He’s just a boy who likes a boy, with all the normal worries that come alongside it.

 

“I will,” Even says.

 

-

 

Halloween’s on a Tuesday, this year, so Even doesn’t get to see Isak until the afternoon, when they’re both done with uni. As it happens, he walks in to the Bjølsen student house to find Eskild and Noora in the kitchen making Isak try on some increasingly ridiculous outfits.

 

“He tried to wear a toga,” Eskild tells Even when he arrives. He sounds scandalized. “What gay man wears a bedsheet on Halloween?”

 

Even decides it’s wise not to tell Eskild that was his plan, too, but Isak’s laughter betrays him.

 

Several hours later, when the gang arrives at the kitchen, Isak and Even are both fully glammed up. Noora has painted a Ziggy Stardust lightning bolt on his face, and he’s currently stretching out a pair of Eskild’s leggings. Isak relented to having a skull painted on his face, a la American Horror Story, as long as Eskild let him wear his own clothes.

 

He doesn’t seem to mind Even’s tight outfit, though.

 

In fact, every time he looks at Even’s ass in it, he takes a deep swig of his drink.

 

It turns out that there’s a party nearby, so the others have decided to check that out before exploring other options. But before they go: Even and Eskild’s alcohol run is put to good use.

 

By the time they get to the party, Isak is giggly, sticking close to Even even as they leave the sanctuary of the kitchen. Even has only had a couple of drinks, claiming he isn’t in the mood for shots—and has stuck to his guns despite Eskild’s pouting.

 

Isak, on the other hand, brings a water bottle into the party filled with rim and Coke. Even had watched Vilde pour it with a sense of trepidation, but he’s not here to police anyone.

 

He just thinks Isak should drink it a little more slowly.

 

“Okay, Captain Morgan,” Even says at a particularly big swig. “Maybe that’s enough.”

 

“Nooo,” Isak says. “Evi, come dance with me.”

 

The music isn’t anything special, but it’s got a beat, and around them people are already drunk enough to be dancing happily—messing around with their friends and grinding up on each other in equal measure. Even wouldn’t have pegged it as Isak’s scene.

 

“Did you just call me Evi?” Even asks. Isak smiles up at him—and there’s that fucking chin tilt. God, Isak’s so cute like this, all uninhibited and sweet. Even just wants to wrap him up and keep him.

 

“Nooo,” Isak says again. “Baby! I called you baby.”

 

He puts his hands on Even’s hips, and starts to move them to the music.

 

It’s cute. He’s so cute.

 

Ah, fuck it.

 

Even pulls Isak’s arms up to rest around his neck, and settles his own hands on Isak’s back. Isak barely dances—just lets himself sway to the beat and laughs as Even starts to sing into his ear, laughs as Even serenades him with the cheesiest pop lyrics imaginable. Even loves it. Loves the look on Isak’s face as he sings and hams it up and gets into the beat—how Isak looks first to his lips, and then down at their bodies, moving together. They’re not grinding against each other, they’re just so in sync. Even could probably get hard from this, though he thinks that might be going a little bit far for Isak. They’re already unmistakably together without their friends seeing them rubbing their dicks against each other.

 

Not that Vilde and Magnus seem to have got the PDA memo. When Even lifts his eyes across the room, Magnus seems to be being devoured by a blonde hurricane with cat ears. It’s almost funny, seeing him trying to keep up.

 

But Even doesn’t want to think about Magnus tonight. He’s just happy—here with Isak, so carefree. For a night it’s like all of his worries are not his own. It’s just him and Isak and a bottle and a beat, and it’s all he could have asked for. He doesn’t need to have foreplay on the dancefloor for it to be perfect. It just is. It’s the most liberating feeling in the world, just being here like this.

 

It doesn’t take long for Isak to move his arms down, covering his eyes and laughing as Even spins around. Even pretends not to notice how Isak’s eyes linger, again, on his ass.

 

“See something you like?” he murmurs into Isak’s ear, and Isak shudders against him.

 

“Fuck you,” Isak says. Then he brushes Even’s hair back from his face, not caring that it’s covered in hairspray, and pulls Even in for a kiss.

 

 _Fuck it_ , Even thinks again. He’s gonna let himself have this as long as he can.

 

\--

 

A few hours later, Even regrets his decision not to confiscate Isak’s bottle of doom. It’s close to 3:00 when he drags Isak out of the party, a little worried that Isak won’t be able to walk without him.

 

He just saw Isak and Eva faceplant into a sofa trying to dance together. It’s not an unfounded concern.

 

“You’re so nice,” Isak says, the sweetest smile on his face. “So good to me.”

 

“Okay, baby. I think you need to sleep now.”

 

“You’re so tall. Like a baby giraffe.”

 

“A giraffe? Okay, Isak.”

 

God, even drunk, Isak is too much. Even shouldn’t be, but he feels so horribly fond.

 

“You’re so good.”

 

“Have you got everything?” Even tries.

 

“I got you.”

 

“Got your keys?”

 

“Yeeeees.”

 

“Where’s your phone?”

 

“Don’t want my phone.”

 

Ugh. Typical. Even doesn’t want to have to go back and search for Isak’s phone tonight.

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Left it at home,” Isak pouts. “Fucking… Stupid dad kept calling.”

 

Oh, shit. Even feels uneasy, all of a sudden.

 

“Your dad?”

 

“He wants me to visit her,” Isak says. “I hate him so much. Even, I—”

 

Even shouldn’t be hearing this right now. Like—okay, of course he wants to know. All he’s wanted all week is for Isak to open up to him, but… not like this. Isak’s face looks so unbearably sad, and it sucks. Even can’t ask him about this while he’s this drunk. It wouldn’t be right.

 

“Isak, let’s get you into bed.”

 

Isak doesn’t want to listen.

 

“I hate him, Even. He ruined it. Why did he do this to us?”

 

They reach Isak’s room, and Even is grateful for it. He fumbles for the key in Isak’s pocket, when Isak shows no signs of getting it himself.

 

“Shh, Isak. Let’s unlock the door, okay?”

 

“I’m so scared, Even,” Isak sniffles. “Even—”

 

“It’s okay, baby,” Even murmurs. “We’re here.”

 

Isak blinks, taking in his familiar room, Even steers him towards the bed, and Isak blinks up at him, still totally out of it.

 

“Bed?”

 

“Yes, Isak, this is your bed.”

 

He pushes Isak gently down onto the mattress, helps him pull of his shoes, jeans, shirt. He goes into the bathroom to wipe the makeup off of his own face, and then comes back with a flannel to do Isak’s.

 

The flannel is black by the time he’s done, and Even takes it back into the bathroom, but he’s too tired to do more than throw it into the sink.

 

Isak needs him, anyway.

 

When he gets back into the room, Isak is naked on his bed.

 

Even stands completely still for a moment, feeling a jolt of want in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” Isak asks. Even practically chokes on his own tongue. “Really… fuck me?”

 

“What?” Even doesn’t know what to say. He can’t even bring himself to move.

 

“We could,” Isak says. He wiggles his fingers in Even’s direction. “I could… get myself ready for you.”

 

Even closes his eyes and counts to ten.

 

“Baby, you’re so drunk,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

“Don’t care,” Isak says quietly. “Want it to be you.”

 

Even opens his eyes.

 

“Please put your underwear back on,” he pleads. And—wow. He never pictured himself saying _that_ to Isak. But he’s so fucking drunk. Even feels all sorts of gross even looking at him right now.

 

“Don’t you want to?” Isak asks.  Even finally lets himself get closer. He focuses on Isak’s eyes, glassy as they are, and then stoops down to pick Isak’s boxers off of the floor.

 

“Here,” he says softly. Isak takes them from his outstretched hand, then turns to sit on the side of the bed. His back is turned to Even, hunched over, and Even feels horrible. Not just horrible—but unsettled. This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

 

“Just not like this, okay?” He strips down to his own underwear, and climbs into his side of the bed. And then—because Isak hasn’t moved, he reaches out to put a hand on his back. “You need to sleep.”

 

“Can’t sleep” Isak mutters. It’s practically a whisper, but Even hears it clear as day. “Never sleep.”

 

He turns back to face Even, and Even coaxes him into lying down.

 

“Try for me baby,” Even says. And it strikes him, all of a sudden, that this is what it must feel like, on the other side. How Sonja must have felt, once upon a time. He’s so worried about Isak. “Promise me you’ll try.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment.

 

Then, without saying a word, Isak nods and closes his eyes.

 

-

 

Even is up before Isak the next morning. It’s not surprising. He barely got a wink of sleep, watching over his sleeping boyfriend to make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick.

 

When Isak finally wakes, Even just feels a weird mixture of anger and relief.

 

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

 

“How’s your head?” Even asks.

 

Isak looks like hell, and sounds worse.

 

“Hurts. I think I threw up last night.”

 

“You did. You got up around four.”

 

“Fuck,” Isak says. Then he freezes, like he’s just remembering the night before. He covers his eyes, barely peeking up at Even through his fingers. “I’m sorry… I sort of threw myself at you.”

 

“You remember that?” Even asks, carefully. He wasn’t sure Isak would. But if he remembers that, he must remember…

 

“Sort of?” Isak answers. He scrubs at his face, then looks away so he isn’t meeting Even’s eyes. “I, uh, said a lot of stuff I didn’t mean.”

 

And there it is. He’s still not going to talk to Even about what’s bothering him.

 

Even has nothing to say to that. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with tap water, trying to fight down the rising tide inside of him. He wants to scream and shout—anything to get the creeping worries off of his chest. He lets the water run for a while, concentrates on the sound of the tap, the sound of the rush hitting metal.

 

He carries the water back into Isak’s room, and Isak greedily takes it.

 

“Ugh, fuck, thank you,” Isak says, gratefully swallowing a couple of tablets down. He passes the glass back to Even, who takes his own sip as he stands over him.

 

Anything to stop him from blurting out what he wants to say.

 

_What the fuck was that, last night? Why won’t you talk to me?_

 

Even sets the glass down with a little more force than is necessary, and Isak fixes him with a suspicious look.

 

“Even, are you okay? You’ve been acting sort of weird, the last few days.”

 

And—he feels the tide rise again. The worries bubbling up.

 

“Weird? _I’m_ acting weird?”

 

Isak doesn’t answer—just looks confused, which would be cute any other time but now is just making Even more and more frustrated.

 

“I don’t know, Isak. Are _you_ okay?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Isak asks very slowly. He either doesn’t know why Even is asking, or is very good at pretending not to. But it’s early in the morning, and Even’s head hurts, and he wants answers now, before it makes him explode.

 

“Why did Jonas have to tell me you weren’t sleeping?”

 

Isak shakes his head.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“He said you needed sleeping pills!”

 

Isak leans away from him. Even cannot read his facial expression. Like, at all.

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

“And Sana said you passed out on the floor last week?”

 

Now Isak starts to look as frustrated as Even feels.

 

“And? You’re not making any sense, Even,” Isak raises his voice, too, but winces as he does it. “Why are you mad about that?

 

“Because it’s fucking stupid, Isak.”

 

“You didn’t even seem to care, last week!” Isak pulls out the big guns. “Why does it matter now?”

 

“It just does!” Even shouts back. He’s aware, distantly, that he is shouting. “You should have told me! I could’ve done something.”

 

“Even—what the fuck. This is so dumb. Why are you making it such a big deal?” Isak rubs his eyes, which—shit, are starting to water.

 

“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me with it.”

 

“We’ve only been together like, two weeks!”

 

Even recoils like he’s been hit, true as it is. It’s exactly the same thing he’d said to Iver, but coming from Isak?

 

Fuck.

 

It doesn’t match how he feels. Sure, they’ve not been together long, technically, but he’s already pretty invested in Isak. And it had upset him to find out that Isak had been suffering. Not just that—but Even can’t believe it took Jonas for him to realize something was wrong. Even feels all kinds of stupid, and ashamed. He was so caught up in his own problems that he wasn’t there for Isak. What kind of boyfriend does that?

 

If only Isak had told him. He would have understood.

 

 _Perhaps Isak will feel the same_ , the voice inside Even’s head says. And—okay, maybe that’s the thing. The thing that’s actually bothering him, here. What will Isak feel like, when the tables turn? Will it feel like this for him, if Even waits to tell him he’s bipolar?

 

_Will it be worse?_

 

Even sits down heavily on the bed, and Isak cautiously sits next to him. Even doesn’t know who reaches for whose hand, but they grip each other tight, not wanting to let go.

 

“Even, come on. What is this about?” Isak murmurs. He sounds careful, which is unfortunately a tone of voice Even is used to. "I don’t sleep well sometimes. You must have noticed."

 

“I’m sorry. I’m overreacting,” Even says.

 

_I’m bipolar. Say it. Just say it._

 

“Me too. I’m just—I’m still really tired.”

 

“I just feel bad for not knowing.”

 

_For not telling you._

 

“I wanted to say something. I should have.”

 

“You didn’t have to,” Even tries.

 

_I have to._

 

“And—what I said.” Isak leans in closer, now, looking deeper into Even’s eyes. His own are still watery, and still beautiful in spite of it. “About it only being a few weeks.”

 

Even shakes his head.

 

“It’s true,” he says. And yes, it feels longer. Because just because he feels something, doesn’t mean that it’s true.

 

“I know. But, um.”

 

Even smiles at him. Isak bites his lip, then carries on.

 

“I’ve never felt this way before,” Isak says. “I’m used to doing stuff alone.”

 

“You’re not alone,” Even says. He leans forward and kisses Isak, before he can think better of it. It’s strange, how it feels to be on the other side of this conversation.

 

Isak kisses him more, bad breath and all. Even kisses back, aware that there’s desperation in it—tiny sipping kisses that don’t come close to saying what he wants them to.

 

“So, if something’s bothering you… you can tell me about it.”

 

“I just don’t want you to disappear again,” Isak admits.

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Isak sighs, leaning into him.

 

“I want to talk about it, but… Fuck. My head hurts. Can we just lay here a little while?”

 

Even feels tired, too. Like the emotions have taken all of the fight out of him. Perhaps he should tell Isak, now, that he’s bipolar. He has to, at some point soon—he knows that now. If he wants to stay with Isak—and if nothing else, this whole thing is proving to him how much he really cares about Isak—then he’ll have to tell him. There’s no running from it.

 

But as Isak lays back again, looking up at Even from his lumpy grey pillow, he can’t bring himself to bring it up.

 

He just wants some more time, to have Isak like this before everything changes. Maybe it’s selfish, but he needs it. And now, with Isak needing him—it feels different, to be needed. Not to be the one in need.

 

He lies back down on his pillow, reaching out to push Isak’s hair from his eyes.

 

He should say something.

 

Instead, the door swings open as somebody knocks rapidly, over and over, and Isak and Even bolt upright. Even must have forgotten to close it when he came back with the water, because Magnus practically falls into the room, sheer panic written across his face.

 

He doesn’t seem to care that they’re in their boxer shorts, barely taking them in. His hair is in total disarray, and he’s barely wearing anything himself—just a t-shirt over his own underwear.

 

Even would comment on it, but Magnus looks ready to burst into tears.

 

“I need help,” he says, his voice laced with fear. “Vilde isn’t waking up.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [yell at me](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com) if you like.


	9. i will share the weight you carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe if Even can be honest, Isak can be honest, and they can get it all out into the open.
> 
> There’s just one flaw in that idea.
> 
> Even’s fucking terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, this is a big one. I'll leave you to make up your own minds about it, because I want to talk about something else, first.
> 
> Today is officially the launch day for a project imminentinertia and I have been working on, and I'm hella excited to finally get to post about it. Our baby [Evakteket](http://evakteket.tumblr.com) goes live today--a fic rec library of all of our favourite Evak stories, sorted by tag. 
> 
> There are so many new works being posted in this fandom, that we wanted a place people could go to to find the stories they enjoy reading without endlessly scrolling through AO3 or customizing the heck out of the search function. Our first reviews are now up, and we'll be adding more and more as we keep reading and rereading, so please check it out, give us a follow, and show us some love.
> 
> You can find us [here](http://evakteket.tumblr.com). <3

-

 

Vilde’s room is just a couple of doors down from Isak’s. As soon as Isak and Even scramble out of bed, Magnus rushes back out to be with her.

 

They follow him about a minute later, wearing a few more clothes, to find him kneeling on the bed next to Vilde. She looks even paler than usual, her skin clammy and lips parted in sleep.

 

She doesn’t look good.

 

Magnus is talking to her gently, patting her cheeks and shaking her shoulders for a response. He looks wild around the eyes, desperate somehow, and Even can’t do anything but stare at them.

 

“Is she breathing?” Isak asks, and Magnus looks up.

 

“Yes,” he says. “I did the mirror thing.”

 

Even stands there as Isak swiftly approaches the bed, remarkably calm in the crisis.

 

He presses his hand to Vilde’s forehead.

 

“She’s burning up,” Isak worries. “How long has she been like this?”

 

Magnus shakes his head.

 

“Fuck, I don’t know. What time is it?”

 

Isak checks his phone.

 

“10:00.”

 

“We got here at 8:00,” Magnus said. “I went back to the roof to get her wallet, and when I came back the door was open and she was like this.”

 

“What were you doing on the roof?” Even wants to know, but it’s clearly the wrong question right now.

 

Magnus and Isak don’t even look at him.

 

“We need to call an ambulance,” Isak urges. “Mags, give me your phone.”

 

Magnus hands it over without a word, fumbling the passcode twice before it finally lets him in.

 

Isak dials immediately, and Magnus looks to Even. Which—okay. Shit. Even has no idea what to do, but he crosses the room and puts his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He hopes it’s enough. Even doesn’t comfort other people very often, but Magnus doesn’t seem to care, just stands up and wraps Even in a fierce hug as Isak talks to the ambulance services.

 

“We don’t know,” he’s saying. “I don’t know—hold on.”

 

He clears his throat as he pulls the phone from his ear.

 

“Mags, how much did she drink?”

 

Magnus turns back to face him. Isak is by Vilde’s side, still, his hand resting on top of hers.

 

“Maybe half a bottle of wine,” Magnus said. “And some other shit at the party, but I don’t know.”

 

Isak relays it back.

 

“Yes,” he says a second later. “She’s breathing but she won’t wake up.”

 

He listens, then grimaces. He looks to Magnus again.

 

“Is there any chance her drink was spiked?”

 

Magnus’s eyebrows shoot up. “No! Fuck, no, I was with her all night.”

 

Isak tells the dispatcher.

 

“Okay,” he says, eventually, after he’s answered more questions. “Okay, thank you.”

 

“We need to turn her over,” he says, when he hangs up. “Into the recovery position.”

 

He looks right at Even as he says it, like he’s looking for backup.

 

Fuck. Right. He needs to _do something_.

 

He and Magnus let Isak direct them, and together they turn Vilde onto her side and clear her airways. They make her comfortable, and then then settle in to wait. With each minute that passes, Isak looks more tense, and Magnus looks more and more overwhelmed.

 

They’re all too silent. It feels like time is passing too slowly. Even’s skin crawls, the worry and discomfort battling with the tiredness he already feels. It feels like the day has lasted forever.

 

Even can’t hardly think right now. He looks at Isak and Magnus, either side of Vilde like a deathbed scene in a movie, and Even just hangs back by the foot of the bed, looking over her. Vilde lies there in her black dress, cat whiskers now wiped from her cheeks and lipstick smudged around her mouth. Magnus has covered her lower half with her duvet again, but her tights-clad toes stick out at the end.

  
For a moment, all Even thinks about is how young she looks.

 

Just as he’s thinking it, Vilde stirs.

 

Her eyes flicker open, dazed, and before any of them can say anything, she leans forward and vomits all over Isak’s t-shirt.

 

Everyone reacts at once.

 

The guys practically say _oh fuck_ in unison. Isak rears back, staring back at her in shock. Even scrambles for a rubbish bin, anything that she can use to throw up in, and passes it over—Isak takes it from him just in time for Vilde to go a second time, spilling her guts into it. Magnus holds back Vilde’s pale hair as she does, although he pointedly looks away and breathes through his mouth.

 

It’s so fucking gross. It’s almost like it’s neverending.

 

“Even, can you take over?” Isak finally says, once it seems like the worst has passed. Vilde lists forward, as if she’s about to pass out again, and Even slips in next to Isak, taking the bin in one hand and putting the other on Vilde’s shoulder. “Make sure she stays awake,” Isak says. “I need to change.”

 

He leaves the room, and Vilde groans, like she’s about to be sick again. Even can’t help but cringe.

 

“Vilde?” Magnus tries. She blinks at him, then closes her eyes again, like she can’t focus on him. Her eyes don’t even open again as she gags, body hunching over again as another shudder overtakes her.

 

The ambulance will be with them soon, Even thinks. This is the worst fucking morning.

 

“It’s okay, Vilde,” he says. “Just let it all out.”  

 

 

\--

 

The gang congregates in the kitchen. Isak hasn’t been to any of his classes, but the others soon trickle in, worried by Magnus’s frantic messages on the group chat. He’d sent them at the hospital, while he waited and worried because he hadn’t been allowed to follow Vilde all the way in. Noora had joined him there pretty soon after, but once the doctors said Vilde was sleeping it off, they’d come back to the student house to pass on the news.

 

Magnus is in a bad way.

 

Vilde, thankfully, is going to be okay. The doctors, according to Magnus, think that she drank too much on an empty stomach—which, okay, Noora looks pretty unhappy about—and probably just… crashed. Vilde and Magnus had tried to stay up all night to watch the sunrise from the silo roof. Magnus is kicking himself, Even can tell—but it’s not his fault. She’d seemed fine enough, certainly no worse than Eva on any given party night.

 

But it’s definitely worrying. All the while Magnus murmurs to the boys about why it had happened, and what the hell Vilde was even thinking, Even and Isak exchange looks.

 

Neither of them say it, but Even thinks they’re both thinking about that night a few weeks ago, on the roof. The things Vilde had said, and how confused she’d seemed. Even sort of wishes he could get Isak alone and talk to him about it—about that, and about so many other things—but Magnus gloms onto Isak like a lifeline, demanding his attention even as the girls swarm around him with another round of interrogation.

 

And—shit, Even has to leave to meet Iver at 15:00. The alarm on his phone reminds him, and he stands almost on autopilot, telling the others he has a seminar to attend.

 

Magnus knows where he’s really going, but Isak shoots him a save-me look as he makes his excuses, leaving the boys to fend off Noora and Sana’s questions. Sana is in full on mother bear mode, and Mahdi eventually steps in to defend Magnus, who is wilting by the second with every word.

 

Even wishes he could stay, but he’s not really needed here. One more person isn’t going to make a difference.

 

Isak hustles Magnus away to his own room to get some sleep as Even slips out of the door, and nods a quiet goodbye as their eyes meet over Even’s shoulder. Even winks at him—more of a blink, really—and then the door swings shut behind him. Even loses sight of him, feeling frustrated at the way this day is turning out.

 

He’s late to see Iver.

 

\--

 

“We had a bad morning,” Even says, once they’ve gone over his checklists and Even has been brought a glass of water. “One of my friends is in the hospital.”

 

Iver leans back in his chair, crossing his skinny legs in his skinny jeans.

 

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Even admits. “I’m just…”

 

The best thing about Iver is that he doesn’t put words in Even’s mouth, or jump in. He sits and waits until Even is finished talking. Even explains what happened with Vilde, and then he sighs. Once he’s said it all out loud, he realises why he still feels on edge about it.

 

“I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there.”

 

“Do you feel unhappy about that?” Iver asks.

 

Unhappy isn’t the right word, really, but—

 

“No. Yes. I felt—useless. Isak was so calm, and he knew exactly what to do.”

 

“Ah, the famous Isak.” Iver smiles. “So he was there, too?”

 

“Yeah. We were together when we heard. He just took charge, called the ambulance, and made sure everything was okay. He just handled it.”

 

“And did that surprise you?”

 

Even should be used to the doctor’s method of questioning, by now, but he still feels himself wrongfooted, stepping back to answer a question he didn’t anticipate.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, we’ve talked a little bit about Isak since you met him. You’ve been worried about how he might react to your diagnosis, given his own circumstances.”

 

“Yeah. I have,” Even says.

 

“So, you seem to be focusing a lot here on Isak’s reaction to your friend, and comparing it to your own. Maybe instead of comparing him to yourself, you could think about what his reaction says about him as a person.”

 

“Well… is that a question?”

 

“Yes, if you’d like to answer it.”

 

Even thinks about it. Or—he doesn’t really have to _think_ about it, but he chooses his words carefully, now, wanting them to be exactly right.

 

“Well, I think he’s a good friend,” he says. “And he’s strong, when he needs to be. He’s brave. Like, he does things even though the situation is scary. And he seemed like he knew what he was doing.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Like… he was used to dealing with a crisis. I think he looked after his mother a lot, so maybe that’s why.”

 

“I see. Well. Those are good qualities in a partner, I think.”

 

Of course they are. Iver thinks he’s being subtle, but he isn’t.

 

“I know where you’re going with this,” Even says. “You still think I have to tell him.”

 

“I don’t think you ‘have to’ do anything, Even. I just hope you’ll take the positives from this situation with your friend, and think about them.”

 

And maybe he’s right, is the thing. Maybe after their conversation this morning, and how everything’s been for them so far—maybe the best way for them to make sure their relationship isn’t doomed before it starts is to put all their cards on the table. Maybe if Even can be honest, Isak can be honest, and they can get it all out into the open.

 

There’s just one flaw in that idea.

 

Even’s fucking terrified of making himself vulnerable like that.

 

“How would I even tell him, though? How do you start that conversation?”

 

“The same way you tell anyone anything, Even,” Iver says. “Decide when to tell him, and see that goal through.”

 

 “Easy,” Even says, and Iver smiles, just slightly.

 

“No,” he says. “But you’ve been through harder.”

 

 

\--

 

Isak texts Even as he’s leaving Iver’s office that he’s going to have a nap before the screening, and does Even want to get food first?

 

Even almost laughs, because of _course_ the screening is tonight. He’d told Nina that he’d go and see that film, meet her and Daniel, and he’d invited Isak to go with him.

 

_You still want to go?_

 

Even texts back, in case Isak is looking for a way out of it. He’s very aware that they still haven’t finished their conversation about Isak’s parents.

 

At least, Even thinks it was about Isak’s parents.

 

_Yeah of course_

_Anywhere but here_

 

_That bad?_

 

_The nap is serving several purposes_

 

_Haha_

_Sweet dreams, then_

_< 3_

Even stares at the single heart for a minute, then gives up.

 

It’s been a long day. A nap before the screening seems pretty fucking smart right now.

 

\--

 

Of course, Even sleeps for longer than he intended to. By the time Isak knocks on Even’s door, wondering where he is, it’s gone 19:00, and they don’t have time to eat anything substantial. Even doesn’t care if it’s a bad choice, just lets Isak lead him to a McDonalds without complaint.

 

Standing in the line to order, Even tries to shake the sleep out of his brain. Isak smiles at him as he does—his eyes looking so much brighter than they did earlier, and his hair suspiciously not flat.

 

Even just has a minute to think that Isak looks cute before he orders a disgusting amount of fried food and shatters the illusion. Even isn’t sure anyone can look sexy while ordering a Homestyle Juicy and double McFries.

 

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Even quotes, when the girl at the counter looks at him expectantly. He repeats it in Norwegian when he gets a blank stare in response. As Isak sniggers next to him, he looks at the menu once more and figure, hey—go hard or go home, right? “And a McFlurry O’boy.”

 

He pulls out his debit card and pays for the whole thing, Isak’s food included, without even thinking about it. Isak makes a token protest, but Even figures he’s pleased enough by the gesture, by the tiny grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

 

He would kiss him, but they’re out in public.

 

The thought hits Even kind of suddenly, and he takes a minute to curse whoever is actually directing this movie called his life, because it isn’t him. He and Isak are out, just the two of them, in the real world, and Isak looks… comfortable. The thought makes him wake up a little, straighten his back.

 

Maybe they haven’t exactly _talked_ yet, and maybe there’s a lot of air to clear, but this is an important milestone. He’s going to make it memorable.

 

“So what is this thing tonight?” Isak says as they sit down. “Like, should I expect more people bursting into song, or…?

 

“It’s a student film, not Moulin Rouge,” Even says, smiling to himself.

 

Isak hadn’t liked that one so much. _Why do your movies always have such depressing fucking endings_ , he’d asked, and Even had kissed him through the tears in both their eyes. He’d had the biggest crush on Ewan McGregor, though—Even had teased him about it relentlessly, and asked if Isak wanted serenading into bed, too.

 

“Well, I don’t know. Hipsters, then?” Isak asks, and Even smiles bigger.

 

“Probably,” he says. “Nina said there’ll be people there who are _in film_. They’ll probably be too cool for us.”

 

“Too cool for _you_ , maybe,” Isak wrinkles his nose. “I’m so fucking cool, I’m the master of cool.”

 

Even laughs out loud at him. Isak’s such an obnoxious delight, sometimes.

 

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty in common with them all,” Even deadpans, as Isak tears into his burger with enthusiasm. He eats like a teenage boy, and it shouldn’t be endearing, but…

 

“I’ll charm them,” says Isak. “I can charm whoever I want, just watch.”

 

“Oh, really? Like you charmed me?”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Isak grins. “I’ll just talk about, like, street art, and how I only drink coffee made by hand-picked coffee beans burned on berries and harmony from Chile at Tim Wendelboe—”

 

He breaks off laughing at Even’s increasingly bitchy expression.

 

“I _like_ Tim Wendelbo,” Even says. Which is true—he and Mikael used to go there all the time, after filming stuff. A lot of his friends from Bakka did.

 

“Nobody’s perfect,” Isak says, and Even feigns hurt.

 

“What, really?”

 

“No,” Isak teases. “And you like Gabrielle.”

 

“What? Everyone likes Gabrielle,” Even scoffs.

 

Isak just shakes his head

 

He looks around, as if he’s looking for someone to talk to. Aha—there’s the perfect candidate, sitting in the corner.

 

“Maybe I’ll go talk to that guy with the man tits, maybe he’ll appreciate me.”

 

Isak’s eyes widen, even as he tries not to spit out his food as he laughs.

 

“Shut up!” He says, once he finally swallows. “He’ll hear you.”

 

Even waves him off, scanning the area again.

 

“What about that lady with the moustache? She looks like she could use some _Even_ in her life…”

 

“Oh my God, stop,” Isak says. And—okay, maybe that was a little bit loud. The lady with the moustache glares at him, and Even turns back to Isak, who has given up trying to keep a straight face. “Why are you like this?” He mutters, as Even bites into his own burger, wiggling his eyebrows at Isak in jest.

 

“You love it,” Even says, and then busies himself eating.

 

Isak leans back against the plastic back of the booth, shovelling fries into his mouth as he shakes his head at Even, still smiling. “Shut up,” he says, softly.

 

The buzz of both of their phones distracts them.

 

It’s a group text—from Vilde.

 

 _Sorry to scare everyone today! I am_  
_at home but not ready for lots of_  
_visitors. Thank you all for coming_  
_to see me you are the best friends_  
_in the whole world! #squad_

Even and Isak read it at the same time. When Even looks up, Isak is still looking at his screen, a considering look on his face.

 

“Should we say something back?” He says. “Like, glad you’re okay, let us know if you need us?”

 

Even hadn’t been planning on replying. But now he thinks about it, Vilde would probably really like that.

 

He tells Isak to do it.

 

 _Hi Vilde, glad you’re okay. Let us_  
_know if we can do anything. From_  
_Isak and Even_  
  
Even smiles as it comes through on the group chat. _Isak and Even_.

 

“You’re so nice,” he says. “That was really nice.”

 

Isak shrugs.

 

“You think Vilde’s really okay?” he asks. “I mean, I know it’s Vilde,” he pulls a face that has Even laughing, for a second, “but, I don’t know. It’s kind of…”

 

“Worrying?” Even asks.

 

“Yeah,” Isak says. “It’s not my business, but she seems kind of stressed out all the time.”

 _  
_ Even shrugs. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Vilde—because he really does, she’s one of the sweetest people he knows—but it’s not his place to get involved in whatever’s going on with her.

 

It’s cool, though that Isak is so concerned for her.

 

“She keeps coming to my room and asking me all these questions,” Isak continues. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what the fuck to say. And when she cries…”

 

The discomfort on his face is almost funny. Even tries to imagine it—Isak being Vilde’s confidante. Weirdly, it’s not that hard to picture. Isak awkwardly patting her on the back, Vilde babbling a mile a minute, and Isak just sitting there and letting her vent.

 

“You were really good with her today,” Even says, finally.

 

“Eh,” Isak replies. He doesn’t seem like he takes the compliment all that seriously—but Even wants him to.

 

“No, seriously,” Even says. “It was so fucking hot.”

 

“Shut up,” Isak says. “It was not.”

 

“Okay, maybe not,” Even says. “With the vomit and everything. But you were great.”

 

Isak smiles at him, and under the table, he knocks his knee against Even’s, then leaves it there, so that their legs are pressed close together. His ankle locks around Even’s ankle, and he doesn’t even look around to check who might be watching.

 

Even’s struck all over again by how brave Isak is, how kind, how much he is trying, even though this must be a hard step, and—

 

“I’m bipolar,” he blurts out.

 

There. It hangs in the air, frozen, a bubble ready to burst. Shit. It’s ridiculous to be telling Isak like this, Even knows, because Isak freezes for a moment: a tableau of surprised teenage boy in a McDonalds booth, with a blob of barbecue sauce in the corner of his mouth, what the fuck. Even wants whatever nameless director is up there to call cut, and start the scene again. He can’t believe he just said it like that.

 

“What?”

 

Isak licks his lips, but the sauce remains. Even looks at it, then away, then over to the door, then—

 

“Even?” Isak prompts. Evan takes a deep breath.

 

It’s not how he would have planned to tell Isak, if he’d actually done so. Over fast food, slotted it in between Iver and the screening. But Isak is steady, and for a heartbeat, the rush of affection Even feels for him makes him want to be brave, too. Or makes him stupid. One of those two things.

 

“Shit, I just sprang that on you,” he says. “That was not chill.”

 

Isak waits. Right. Because that wasn’t an explanation.

 

“I wanted to tell you, because you should know,” Even tries. “Before we keep doing this and I ruin it, or something.”

 

He awkwardly stirs his McFlurry, melting there in front of him.

 

“You’re bipolar,” Isak says.

 

It’s not a question, really. Just Isak turning it over in his mouth.

 

Even is afraid, but he hopes it doesn’t show.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“I don’t know. I was diagnosed at sixteen.” It had been fucking horrible. “Before that—they didn’t know what it was.” Three different diagnoses, until the third one finally stuck.

 

“Is this why you were... You know. After the pool?”

 

The pool. Wow. _The pool feels like a long fucking time ago_ , Even thinks—nearly four weeks ago, now.

 

“You mean was I having an episode?”

 

Isak nods.

 

“No,” Even says slowly. “You would have known something was happening if I had.”

 

“Okay,” Isak says. He doesn’t sound sure.

 

“Things were… not good, that week, the week after. But it wasn’t an episode.”

 

Isak considers it. Even wonders, for a second, if this is really happening—if Isak is actually sitting here and asking him questions like this. Giving him a chance to explain. Not running from Even.

 

“What… happens? In an episode?”

 

“Fuck. Well. When I get sick... There are these—highs and lows. I’ll be manic for a little while, and then I’ll crash, and I’ll get really, like… dark. Because I’m depressed. It depends.”

 

“But it’s not all the time?”

 

“The episodes aren’t. But even when I’m not having an episode… I’m always bipolar. It’s part of who I am.”

 

Isak is quiet. Even can’t read his expression, now, but if he could, he’d say Isak looks sad.

 

“I don’t know if this changes things.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You… don’t have to deal with it, if you think it’s too much—”

 

“No.”  

 

Even waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

 

“You can ask me questions, maybe. If you want to,” Even tells him.

 

Isak seems torn.

 

“You can think about it,” Even says. “You don’t have to decide now.”

 

Isak shakes his head, then shoves his leftover food into the paper bag. Clearly, his appetite is gone.

 

“We should go,” Isak says, standing. “We’ll be late for your thing.”

 

“You don’t have to come,” Even replies. “You can go home and think about stuff, or—”

 

“Even,” Isak interrupts. “Shut up. I don’t want to leave you right now.”

 

_Oh._

 

“Let’s go to the screening,” he continues. “You can talk about hipster film bullshit and we’ll watch the film and I’ll try not to sleep through it. It’ll be chill. I just…”

 

 _Oh_. Even says it out loud this time.

 

“Okay?” Isak asks. His voice shakes, but he keeps his eyes on Even.

 

With the hand not holding his half-eaten food, Isak reaches out for him. Tears prick Even’s eyes as Isak pulls him to his feet, and he barely registers the salt and grease on Isak’s fingers, because Isak holds on to his hand for longer than he needs to.

 

Even almost believes he won’t let go.

 

“Okay,” he murmurs back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [One more shameless plug ;)](http://evakteket.tumblr.com)


	10. now my bedsheets smell like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logically, he knows he must have felt like this before, but it’s still exhilarating, to feel so connected to another person.
> 
> To want somebody. To have all of their attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for all of the love for our fic rec library! Immy and I are so so so excited at the response so far, and we can't wait to get more posts up there and start filling out the tags. If you haven't checked it out already, you can find us at [evakteket](http://evakteket.tumblr.com).
> 
> Secondly: here be a sex scene. Or two. As of now, I think maybe this fic needs an explicit rating, but please let me know if you think I'm being over-cautious. I've changed it from mature, but am sort of flying blind here, so your feedback on the rating would be super appreciated!
> 
> Thirdly: we are in the home straight, now, I think! Three more chapters and the epilogue, and then that's it--which I kind of can't believe. I've literally never written a fic this long, and I can't believe I've actually got this far with it. I'd never have managed it without you guys, and without the people who have welcomed me to this fandom--imminentinertia and DickAnderton especially, who have talked me through some dark nights of the soul. 
> 
> You guys are the best. I hope this doesn't disappoint. <3

 

 -

Isak sticks close to Even’s side at the screening. Throughout the film itself, and the snacks after, he stays—and he laughs in the right places and tries to make conversation, and he doesn’t even roll his eyes when Even and Nina get into a detailed conversation about shot matching in _Today/Tomorrow._ It would be the most perfect evening, if Even hadn’t just dropped the B-bomb on his unsuspecting boyfriend.

 

Somehow, though, he feels lighter for sharing his burdens.

 

He feels more and more glad, as the evening wears on and the crowd thins out. As Even stays talking to Nina and Daniel, he feels like he’s being his true self for the first time in… well, in the longest time.

 

He’s talking about films with two people who know exactly what it’s like to obsess over the perfect frame and block out every movement in a scene until they’re telling exactly the right story. And he has a boy by his side who likes him despite knowing about Even’s brain, and who watches Even talk about the thing he loves with a blooming smile on his face.

 

“Are you in media studies, too?” Daniel had asked Isak, and Isak hadn’t hesitated. Even had turned to him, ready to give him a way out, and Isak had reached for his hand, instead.

 

“No,” he’d replied. “I’m Even’s boyfriend.”

 

Maybe it’s the kind of event they’re at. The room is full of expressive people, artsy people, and they’re not the only same-sex couple in the room by any means—but Even feels lit up inside by Isak’s words as he stands there, his _boyfriend_ a solid presence by his side. _He’s still here,_ Even tells himself, every time Isak laughs and he feels the vibrations along his own body. _He’s here with me._

It’s a glittering spark of a night, and Even doesn’t want to let it go.

-

 

Of course, things never stay bright.

 

After the screening, in spite of Even’s relief at getting things out into the open, days pass without Isak mentioning Even’s confession. He almost begins to believe he hadn’t said anything at all—like, maybe that night was all some elaborate dream conjured up by his desires.

 

But he knows it wasn’t. It’s in Isak’s eyes, when he looks at him now, sometimes—a carefulness. Even should have expected it, but it makes him sad every time he sees it, nonetheless.

 

Isak still isn’t sleeping well. He hasn’t mentioned it, but Even can tell, now that he knows to look. And part of him says, rationally, that whatever issue Isak was having with his parents clearly just hasn’t gone away, but… okay, he also wonders if he’s part of the reason. If Isak is worrying about him, or worrying about what to do about him, or how to let him down gently—

 

Even second guesses himself a lot. Even when it’s just him and Isak hanging out, watching movies or kissing, in those days after his confession a thousand different explanations for Isak’s behaviour go through his head. He just doesn’t know what to think.

 

Isak doesn’t shy away from Even, although he does spend a little bit of time visiting Vilde—it seems like they’ve grown closer after everything she went through. He’s still a good-but-new boyfriend, still struggling but trying to show his affection for Even, still sending him dumb memes and tagging him in unflattering Instagram posts.

 

Even doesn’t really have anything to complain about.

 

And yet, still, there’s a little voice in Even’s head saying _don’t get used to him sticking around. He doesn’t feel like you do._

 

-

 

On Friday evening, Even arrives back from dinner with his mamma to the world’s peppiest pop song blaring from Magnus’s door. It’s not really Magnus’s style—he’s usually a pretty considerate neighbour, not to mention that he usually listens to stuff he thinks is ‘cool’. Not… whatever this is.

 

Even knocks on the door, but the music almost certainly drowns him out. He tries the handle, instead, and opens the door with caution, hoping that Magnus isn’t dancing around naked, or anything.

 

He… isn’t.

 

Magnus is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a pensive expression as bubblegum pop fills the room. Even almost wants to film the scene: it’s the perfect contrast. Instead, he hits the pause button on his friend’s laptop, and watches as he startles and turns to face him.

 

“Even!”

 

Hey, Mags,” he says, cautiously. “Uh, cool music.”

 

“Oh, sorry, bro,” Magnus says. He sounds normal, but Even can’t help noticing the down-turned corners of his mouth. “Was it too loud?”

 

“A little,” Even says. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing.” Magnus sighs. “Waiting for Vilde to text back.”

 

Well, shit. Even’s interrupted him moping about his girlfriend.

 

He approaches Magnus with caution, leaning against his messy desk.

 

“What’s up with you two, then?” Even asks. He hasn’t exactly checked in with Magnus, since Vilde got back from the hospital. It seemed like he was spending all of his free time with her, making sure she was okay—

 

“I think we’re breaking up,” Magnus says.

 

 _“_ What?”

Okay, Even’s definitely missed something.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why do you think that?” Even asks.

 

“Well, she said she wanted to take a break to think about stuff.”

 

 _Oh_ , Even thinks. He suddenly has a good idea what she might be thinking about.

 

“And the girls have like, formed a ‘protective turtle’ around her or something.”

 

“A ‘protective turtle’?”

 

“Yeah. Like a human shield.”

 

“That sucks. But you’re still texting?”

 

Magnus shows him his phone. There are a lot of unanswered messages on the screen.

 

“Well, I’m texting her. I sent her this picture of a cat, look.” Even tries not to look too sceptical. “You know. Because she likes cats…?”

 

“Um. Maybe you should just give her a bit of space, Mags.”

 

“Yeah. You think so?”

 

Even doesn’t want to lie about it.

 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

 

“And if she doesn’t like me anymore, she doesn’t like me,” he says, resigned. “Fuck, that’s so awkward, though.”

 

Even stands there for a moment. He really doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

“Hey, how are you and Isak?” Magnus asks, at last. “Hashtag ‘Evak?’” It’s not exactly easier territory, but Even’s glad for the change of subject.

 

“They’re good, I guess. I… told him I’m bipolar.”

 

“Oh, shit!”  Magnus straightens up, now, looking more interested. “Congrats, man. How did that go?”

 

Even shrugs, trying not to seem so rattled by it.

 

“I have no idea. It’s like he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I mean, it’s Isak,” Magnus says. “But that sucks.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wait, should I talk to him?”

 

And that’s a horrifying thought. No, Even needs to do it himself. He needs to pick a moment and just talk to Isak—it isn’t like it went _so_ badly before, right? At least he said what needed to be said?

 

“Fuck, no,” Even says, but smiles at his friend nonetheless. “Thanks, but I need to do it myself.”

 

“Any time, though, just let me know,” Magnus says. He’s earnest about it, Even sees, and for a moment just appreciates how lucky he is to have Magnus in his life.

 

“Thanks, Mags,” Even says. “You’re a really good friend.”

 

-

 

The thing is, Even’s bad at picking his moment. On Saturday, he has every intention of talking to Isak again, properly, but ends up spending the weekend filming for his group project. By the time he gets back to Isak’s place on Sunday night everyone is already there—the girls conspicuously surrounding Vilde, who sneaks looks at Magnus every time he looks away from her—and Isak actually looks at ease. He’s smiling and laughing with Jonas, and letting Eskild tease him, and Even doesn’t want to drag him off to his room for another talk if it’s going to get heavy.

 

The little voice in the back of his head tells him he’s getting too serious about it all. He and Isak have been together about three weeks, now, and that’s nowhere near long enough for Isak to have become used to the idea of being with someone bipolar.

 

But in spite of that? They _have_ spent nearly every day together. And Even feels closer to Isak, right now, than he has to anybody but Sonja and his parents, and that means something. He’s not in love, but he cares about Isak a lot, and he wants to make it work.

 

Whatever that takes.

 

On Tuesday, however, Isak takes the matter out of his hands.

 

Even goes to Isak’s after his afternoon seminar only to be yanked inside and pressed up against the door.

 

He barely has time to protest—not that he wants to—before Isak takes Even’s face in his hands, guiding their mouths together. They pull at each other’s clothes, barely breaking away from the kiss as they move through the room, taking off their hoodies and t-shirts and throwing them to the ground.

 

Isak wrestles with the button on Even’s jeans, and pulls him out, pumping Even’s cock until it’s hot and hard in his hand.

 

It’s all moving fast, and Even—well, he loves it. But even as he’s arching his back, biting at Isak’s mouth, he feels like something isn’t right.

 

With each move—as Even reaches for Isak’s zip, or turns them over on the bed—Isak starts to ask him things. Small, and sweet things, in any other circumstance, but Even can’t ignore the note of real worry in Isak’s voice as he asks.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Does this feel good?”

 

“Still okay?”

 

_What the hell?_

 

Eventually, Even pulls back from Isak, running a hand through his own hair in frustration.

 

“You’re asking me a lot of questions,” he says quietly.

 

Isak freezes, looking caught.

 

Oh.

 

“I just want to make sure everything’s chill,” Isak mumbles. He looks away, and now, Even has to ask:

 

“Is it because I told you I’m bipolar?”

 

It wouldn’t surprise him if it was. It would be annoying, yes, but Isak wouldn’t be the first person to treat him like he’s breakable. Sonja did it for almost half their whole relationship, and it was because she cared about him, and she couldn’t help it even though it did make Even sad and angry…

 

Isak frowns, looking frustrated.

 

“What? No, Even. I mean—”

 

“You can still ask me questions,” Even cuts in. “Or… you can say, if you’re uncomfortable.”

 

“No! I’m not uncomfortable.” Isak protests.

 

“No?”

 

Isak deflates, a little bit. Even thinks he’s right, then. That Isak is going to be just like Sonja.

 

But when he answers, Even’s heart lifts in his ribcage.

 

“I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing.”

 

A little flutter of hope and relief. It makes him reach for Isak’s hand.

 

“Yeah, but. I don’t want you to be, like, walking on eggshells,” Even reasons. “Just ask me.”

 

“Now?”

 

Isak glances down, to where Even’s cock is pulled out of his underwear. Still half-hard.

 

 _Oh, right_.

 

“Uh, can you…?”

 

Even knows what Isak means, but he glances down anyway. He points at his flagging hard-on, like he’s just realised it’s out on display.

 

“What, this? Is it bothering you?”

 

Isak huffs, and Even tucks himself away, chastised.

 

“Sorry, sorry. Ask me.”

 

Isak shrugs. It’s lighter now, though—like some of the tension is gone from his shoulders. The burden of bipolar disorder, Even thinks. It’s heavy, when you don’t share it.

 

Isak speaks slowly, choosing his words with care.

 

“Well… I looked it up this morning, but Wikipedia isn’t the best—” Even grimaces, because that’s an understatement and a half. “So, is there a way to control it? Like, medication or… stuff?”

 

Even gives the question the seriousness it deserves

 

“Not exactly control it? But make it less bad, I guess. I have medication right now, and I see a psychiatrist. There are some things I’m supposed to cut back on…”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Caffeine. Beer. Weed.”

 

Isak’s reaction is comical.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

“Yeah. So much fun.”

 

“But I’ve seen you have all three of those things,” Isak says, cautiously. It doesn’t sound judgemental—just curious.

 

“Yeah, well. I’m not a monk.”

 

“Is it safe, though?”

 

“Well, it’s not safe for anybody, is it?” Even knows he’s been too curt as soon as he says it, and squeezes Isak’s hand in an apology. “No, I’m careful—I just can’t let it control my whole life. I need to have some fun, sometimes, you know?”

 

“Yeah. I get that,” Isak says.

 

And the thing is—Even believes that he does.

 

“I’m glad you told me,” Isak says now. “Really.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It means… a lot. That you trusted me. I thought, when we first hooked up, that maybe you were just messing around with me. Hit it and quit it, or whatever.”

 

Sometimes Even forgets that other people aren’t in his own head with him. _Hit it and quit it?_ Discounting the brash American-ness of the expression, he’s still surprised that Isak thought that way. He’d felt so drawn to Isak, even when he’d denied it. He’d thought that it had been obvious.

 

“I’d never think of you like that,” Even says.

 

Isak doesn’t look like he believes him.

 

“Okay, maybe the _first_ first time,” Even admits. “But the real first time, when we hung out together after. I liked you already.”

 

Isak smiles, now.

 

“You liked me?”

 

“What, didn’t you like me?”

 

“Nah, I just thought _holy fuck he’s hot_.” He says. Then, looking more bashful. “Yes, I liked you.”

 

“And what about now?”

 

And even more bashful.

 

“Yeah, now.”

 

“Say it. Say you like me.”

 

“Oh my God, Even.” But he’s smiling now, and Even can’t help but push.

 

“Come on.”

 

“Fine,” Isak says. “I like you.”

 

Even kisses him.

 

“So, can we ‘hook up’ now, or?”

 

Isak rolls his eyes, but Even knows the answer.

 

\--

 

It’s not sex like they’ve had it before—by turn awkward and fumbling and brilliant. This feels so much bigger. It’s still messy and hot and ridiculous, but Even feels like he’s never felt as naked as he does here with Isak.

 

Logically, he knows he must have felt like this before, but it’s still exhilarating, to feel so connected to another person.

 

To want somebody. To have all of their attention.

 

When Isak takes Even’s cock in his mouth, he takes him too far, and Even wipes away the tears that spring to his eyes. Isak pulls off and kisses his shaft, instead, sloppy kisses like apologies, until Even lifts his chin, makes Isak look at him.

 

“Just go slow,” he says, and Isak clears his throat before nodding, and trying again. He takes Even in, inch by inch, and then stops, breathes, and goes down further, all the while keeping his eyes on Even.

 

Even can’t look away, just overwhelmed by it. Isak’s never going to be the deep-throating world champion, but when he hollows his cheeks Even feels the tingles through to his fucking toes. His mouth is so hot, so wet—and it’s Isak. He’s just so enthusiastic about it, just wanting to make Even feel good. Even feels everything.

 

He really wants to make it last, but he can’t. He can feel himself approaching the edge too fast—it’s too much.

 

“Baby,” he says. “Isak, fuck, wait.”

 

Isak pulls off and just breathes for a moment, his lips shiny and red. “Yeah?” he asks. Voice hoarse.

 

Even presses his thumb to those lips, and tugs.

 

“Wanna kiss you,” Even says, desperate for it, and hauls him up until Isak’s entire body is settled over his, heavy and warm.

 

Isak holds himself up, but Even just pulls him closer for kisses, fucking into Isak’s mouth with his tongue like he’s chasing his own taste.

 

Isak’s arms give way, and Even takes his weight, just enjoying having Isak pressed against every inch of him. For a moment, Even’s pinned down to the mattress, and then Isak hooks his legs under Even’s and flips them over.

 

There’s very little room in Isak’s single bed to do so, but Even rolls with it, letting Isak readjust them until Even has his legs straddling Isak’s.

 

Free to move, now, Even can’t stop kissing him. Isak’s mouth, his neck, his nipples—even the dips of his collarbone, where sweat has begun to gather. Even’s hips roll against Isak’s without conscious direction, his cock against Isak’s pale skin. His precome leaves clear trails on Isak’s cock, his thighs, his own hip bones.

 

He’s going to get there like this, he realizes. He’s going to come all over Isak, after just a blowjob and a bit of rubbing off.

 

He can’t bring himself to give a fuck.

 

From the sound of it, Isak doesn’t either, grasping at Even’s sweaty back and opening his legs wider, just letting Even’s cock slide against his own and pressing back, arching his back like Even could get closer and closer.

 

Not for the first time, Even thinks about opening him up, putting his cock in him—how it’d feel to be inside Isak, or have Isak inside him. How Isak might sound, then, how he might squeeze his eyes shut or open them wide as Even comes with them still connected—

 

And fuck, Even tips over the edge.

 

He comes in spurts, shuddering into Isak’s mouth and against his body, hand sneaking down to squeeze his cock as he paints Isak’s belly with white stripes.

 

He can’t stop himself from looking down at the mess he’s made of Isak, trailing his hands through his own come to see it coating Isak’s cock. Isak’s breath is fast. He’s close, reaching for himself now, but Even wraps his own hand around Isak’s as they take him in hand, pulling him off fast and wet with Even’s come slicking the way—

 

“Fuck,” Isak says, quietly.

 

And Even looks up and meets Isak’s eyes, and that’s it: Isak follows him right over. The end. Isak screws his eyes closed, just like Even had pictured, and comes silently, his mouth open in a wordless _oh_.

 

Even could almost laugh at them as he collapses next to Isak, the both of them breathing too heavily. And he does laugh—turning to Isak, seeing the wide-eyed look of embarrassment and joy on his face, he lets himself laugh, just happy to be here with him in this moment.

 

Isak hides his face, then grins back, reaching out a hand to brush back Even’s hair.

 

He doesn’t ask if it was okay.

 

Even thinks the answer is pretty obvious.

 

 

\--

 

After, they lie together in Isak’s bed, and Isak kicks away his duvet before curling into Even for warmth.

 

Even couldn’t guess how long they lie there, before Isak starts talking. Sentence by sentence, it all comes out—and Even just listens. He thinks, after, that it’s the most he’s heard Isak say… ever. But it feels like it’s important to be quiet, and not joke, and just let Isak say whatever comes to him.

 

Bit by bit, Isak opens himself up.

 

“My dad has been pushing me to visit mamma in the home. He keeps saying it isn’t his job to go all of the time, and that I should support him and be there for her.”

 

“When I was at Nissen, my dad moved out, and I promised I would stay with her while he got some space. He was having these chest pains with all the stress so we thought it would help both him and mamma if he moved.”

 

Bit by bit.

 

“He said he would move back in and I could move out to come here. But he went home and a few weeks later he was moving her out so he didn’t have to deal with her. He said it was the best thing for her but I know she didn’t want to go. And I just feel like he could have stayed with her, he just didn’t want to try.”

 

Bit by painful, jagged bit.

 

“I hate it. I hate thinking about her lying in there feeling like we abandoned her. And I hate that I lived with her for two years, for my dad, just wishing I could go somewhere and get away from her and all her religious shit and her illness and blah blah blah. But I had nowhere else to go, and I hated her for it, and what kind of fucked up son feels like that?”

 

He’s mumbling by the end of it, but Even catches every word. He pulls Isak in tighter against him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

 

That was a lot.

  
More than he was expecting to get, any time soon.

 

And Even could say a lot of things. Like, _maybe she’s better off with real help,_ or _maybe he’s doing the best he can,_ or _I’m so sorry you were trapped like that_ , but he says none of them.  

 

“Thank you for trusting me,” he says, instead. He knows it’s not quite enough, but there’s too much there for Even to even start unpicking right now. Except one, important thing. “And you’re not fucked up.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say about the rest. On one level, he agrees with Isak. The idea of moving her into a home—not just a temporary inpatient stay at a hospital, or some local facility, but an actual psychiatric nursing home—is scary. It’s such an extreme measure, like… Even didn’t even know there were any places like that still running. He’s heard the horror stories about what they used to be like. Surely, Isak’s father has, too?

 

But on another level, Even is also glad that Isak’s mother isn’t alone with Isak’s father. That she’s getting help, and that Isak is no longer trapped at home bearing the brunt of her moods.

 

And maybe Isak doesn’t like what his father did, but is he avoiding visiting his mother because he’s angry at his father? Or is he afraid it’ll make him feel guilty for leaving her?

 

Even doesn’t have any of the answers, but he’s glad Isak opened up to him. Hard as it was.

 

Maybe now, with everything out in the open, they can just _be_ , for a while. Make this thing they have going something good—built from honesty, and strength, and partnership.

 

If Isak can try to be there for Even, he wants to try right back.

 

He takes in the both of them, gross and sweaty, and scratches a flake of drying come off of Isak’s belly. “Come on. Come shower with me.”

 

“What?” Isak asks, flinching away from Even’s fingers like he’s ticklish. “Seriously?” And, okay, maybe he’s confused. It was, admittedly, a non-sequitur.

 

“Everything always feels better in the shower, Isak,” Even says, climbing out of bed.

 

“Ugh. What movie is that?” Isak sounds grumpy, now, which is at least better than sad and mopey. But he gets up, too, and lets Even hand him a towel.

 

“No movie,” Even says, then considers. “Well, probably some gay porn, I don’t know.”

 

He saunters out of the room, and into the bathroom that Isak shares with Eskild.

 

He doesn’t check to see if Isak will follow. He knows Isak will.

 

-

 

They stand inside the narrow shower tray, as Even angles the shower head to keep them both warm. He’s never really been into shower sex, for this reason—someone’s always too cold, and he’s always too afraid of slipping and getting some embarrassing injury. But standing in the tiny student shower with Isak, he finds he likes the intimacy of it—the nakedness, the rushing water, the thrill at seeing Isak in this place where he is usually alone and vulnerable.

 

Suddenly, all those shower scenes in all those movies make perfect sense.

 

“How are we both supposed to fit in here?” Isak asks him, tipping his head back to let the spray soak into his curls. His gaze drops to Even’s lips, and so Even kisses him, sweet and close-mouthed, as the water runs down both their faces.

 

Even’s hand finds its way into Isak’s hair, and he runs his fingers through the damp strands.

 

“Where’s your shampoo?” He asks, pulling away.

 

Isak’s face is incredulous.

 

“You actually want to wash?” He asks. “Did you honestly bring me here to get clean?”

 

Even smiles. “A novel concept, Isak. Hand me your shampoo.”

 

Isak grumbles about it, but stoops down and picks up a bottle.

 

“It’s Eskild’s,” he says, when Even raises his eyebrows at it. “I forgot to buy more.”

 

“Likely story,” Even says, and Isak just huffs as Even pops the cap and squirts some into his hand.

 

Instead of putting it in his own hair, though, he reaches out and starts to rub the shampoo into Isak’s. Isak makes only the most token of protests before he leans into it, lets Even’s fingertips soap up his curls. His eyes flutter closes as Even massages his head, drawing circles on his scalp.

 

“Lean back,” Even says, quietly.

 

Isak tips his head back and lets Even rinse the shampoo off, his eyes still closed.

 

Even reaches for the matching conditioner, and stands again. Isak doesn’t even ask, just sighs to himself as Even puts his hands in his hair once more, turning his curls silky and soft. Under his breath, Isak lets out a soft _hmm,_ and Even smiles, even though Isak can’t see it. His lips twist, and he keeps playing with Isak’s hair long after he’s done rubbing the conditioner in, just because he can: he pushes it back from Isak’s head, parts it down the middle, and then finally scoops it up into the middle like a Mohawk.

 

Fucking hell. It’s ridiculously adorable.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Isak opens his eyes and frowns, as Even gives in and laughs at his own creation.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Tilt your head back again.”

 

Isak narrows his eyes at him, then closes them, letting Even rinse him again. With his hair drenched, and his throat bared, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks—Even’s breath catches in his throat for a moment. Isak has never looked as good to him as he does right now. So trusting, and so raw, and so real.

 

Even leans in to kiss him.

 

Isak kisses back straight away—not chaste this time, but the gasping, desperate sort of kissing that is bound to be leading up to a round two, Even thinks. Isak’s tongue slips into his mouth as their bodies are pulled flush up against each other.

 

Even’s hands find Isak’s hips, then trace around to grasp at his cheeks. His finger slips down Isak’s crack to find his hole, and as the pad of his fingertip runs over it and pushes gently inside, Isak’s whole body twitches against Even—a jolt of something that has Isak gasping for real, this time, _moaning_ —

 

Isak pulls away suddenly, choking and coughing.

 

“Are you okay?” Even asks, incredulously. He’s looking seriously pink in the face, and, wow. Even doesn’t think it’s just the kissing that’s got him there.

 

“I’m fine,” Isak rasps. “I just got… a bit of water… in my throat.”

 

He looks embarrassed as fuck, but it’s all Even can do not to laugh out loud.

 

“A water droplet? Are you sure?” He teases, leaning back in. “Are you sure it wasn’t my magic fingers?”

 

Isak shoves him away with a smile.

 

“You’re so full of it.”

 

“You know it,” Even says. But God, he wants Isak to make that sound again. “I mean. Isak. Have you ever…?”

 

He trails off as Isak looks down at the floor. He really, really doesn’t want to kill the mood, but he has to know.

 

“Just… to myself,” Isak says, surprising Even again. “it’s not the sort of thing you do with one night stands.”

 

Even isn’t sure that’s true, but he’ll admit that he hasn’t done it much, either. Just the one person, when he was travelling—Giulio, who he had he liked and trusted, who had taken him apart with his fingers just days after Sonja had left him in Venice.

 

He hasn’t tried with Isak before, content to stick to handjobs and blowjobs, or rubbing off against each other in a number of creative positions. Isak had been half in the closet, before, and he’d never brought up doing anything else, so Even had figured they should keep taking it slow.

 

Tonight, though, he feels like they’re moving forwards.

 

“I don’t know if I really did it right,” Isak continues. “There’s not really… like an instruction manual.”

 

Even leans him and kisses him again, nuzzling his nose against Isak’s. He can’t help it. For Isak to just _say_ something like that—when a month ago, he was stuck on the distinction between them _fucking_ and _hooking up._ It’s so great.

 

“We can figure it out,” he says simply, pulling Isak into him again. His hands curve around Isak’s ass, marvelling at the way Isak’s breath hitches as their cocks line up.

 

 “That, and everything else.”

 

 

 


	11. the tip of my finger is tracing your figure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “More,” Even says, faking some bravado he doesn’t feel. “You could do one more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> I have to thank my girl Immy, of course (girl, where would I be without you? <3) but also the lovely [annematique](http://annematiqe.tumblr.com) (the_moonboots) for all her help and encouragement with this chapter. If it's taken a while, that's my fault, not theirs! Also, ahem, yes, there is 2k of sex in this. I don't know what to tell you. [absolves self of all responsibility]
> 
> ON A LESS SORDID NOTE. I mostly wanted to use this chapter note to give a shout out to all of you in the SKAM fandom who are reading this, whether you're a big name fan or otherwise. This week I've been thinking a lot about fandom, and how this is the first time I feel like I've been in one where I've actually been making friends and connecting to people.
> 
> It's hard, I think, in fandom, to put yourself out there and get to know people without worrying that they think you're annoying, or that they don't want to talk to you. I know I personally am almost always too shy to talk to the people I think are awesome. If you, reading this, are sitting here wondering how it is that other blogs are so popular, or get so many notes, or have so many asks--I want to tell you that you are appreciated, and you are what keeps this fandom alive. Not just the big names or the artists or writers, but you, lurkers and newbies and shy people in the back. 
> 
> If you want to make a friend in this fandom, I also want to tell you that my askbox is open. Talk to me about literally anything. I'm right [here](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com).

-

 

The next few weeks are full of Isak. He’s in Even’s bed, or Even’s in Isak’s bed, and they’re constantly in contact—and it’s not what Even had expected to slip into again so quickly, this whole relationship thing, but he feels almost foolish with happiness.

 

It’s not just the sex—although the sex is pretty much blowing Even’s mind. Maybe it’s because he’s older now, but he can’t remember the last time being with somebody felt so natural, or so fun.

 

Tuesday night, they’re lying in Even’s bed together after a particularly messy round of orgasms—there had been wrestling, and a tickle fight, and it had somehow gotten… out of hand—when he brings it up to Isak. He’s sprawled half-across Even in the tiny bed, chest rising and falling heavily, pink marks on his hips from Even holding him as he fucked Even’s mouth. It might have been easier, had the silo beds actually come with headboards to hang on to, but the university hadn’t stretched to that, and they’d ended up in fits of laughter at Isak’s sweaty hands slipping down the white walls.

 

“What was it like when you did this before?” Even asks. It’s quiet. Not just from his sore throat, but because he’s out of breath, too.

 

“Are you looking for a compliment?” Isak turns to face him, like he’s ready to judge the fuck out of him.

 

“No,” Even smiles. “I just wondered.”

 

Isak wriggles around to look at him better, his limbs sliding across Even’s in… actually, ugh, kind of a gross way. They really need to shower before they sleep tonight.

 

“Well, it was just hooking up before,” he admits.

 

“Okay?”

 

“It didn’t mean anything. But it felt good.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Even’s kind of glad for that. Isak had told him what it was like before—sneaking out when things with his mother got too difficult, finding a divey gay bar that’d let him in, then going home with the first person he liked the look of. It was just a way to get out of the house at first… but after? Reading between the lines, Even thought it was because it made Isak feel real.

 

Even had been worried, a little, that Isak had been putting himself in danger. After all—that was how Jonas and Eva had found out, having to pick him up from a stranger’s house early the next day because he’d lost his wallet.

 

He’s glad Isak doesn’t do that anymore.

 

“Yeah. Scary but really good. It was just… different.” Isak shrugs

 

“How different?”

 

He’s pushing, he thinks, but Isak seems happy enough to answer. He runs his fingers through Isak’s sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face.

 

“You know. When you’re with someone more than once, they... know what you like.”

 

Isak blushes at that, and Even thinks about Isak’s expression when he held his hips in place, kissed his belly.

 

“You’re saying I’m better?” He teases, and Isak swats at him.

 

“Haha. You wish.”

 

“It’s good though,” Even admits. And—because he can’t help himself. “You’re fucking amazing, Isak.” He sees exactly how that lands—Isak’s mouth parting in an _oh_ , gone slack, his eyes drifting down to Even’s mouth.

 

He knows what’s coming next.

 

Isak leans in, and kisses him.

 

Showering will have to wait.

 

\--

 

Coming back to Oslo had been a strange thing.

 

After all those months away, travelling with the boys, coming home had felt like closing a book. The second he moved into the silo—maybe even the second he stepped foot on Norwegian soil—it was like Travel Even got put away in a little box. Like he’d woken up from a dream, or finished a great movie, but now the lights were on and he had to go outside again.

 

He hasn’t quite found the right metaphor for it, yet.

 

Anyway, it’s not like he doesn’t think about his time away. He hasn’t forgotten the things he did, or the people he met, and he still hears from Mathias and Trond over Snapchat, with increasingly ridiculous photos of them across Eastern Europe. It’s just all strangely compartmentalized in Even’s head, into ‘then’ and ‘now.’

 

Which is why, on Saturday, he’s surprised to wake up to texts from the Berg boys blowing up his phone.

 

 **Trond:** _hey Even_

 

 **Mathias:** _Even_

_OMG EVEN_

 

 **Trond:** Oh my God.

 

 **Mathias:** _We’re back bitchezzzz_

_Party party party_

 

Even stares at the messages for a second before blearily typing out his reply. Isak snuffles into his side, and Even shifts to avoid elbowing him in the face.

 

_hello?_

_what the fuck guys_

 

 **Trond:** _No but really. We’re back._

**_Mathias:_ **

 

_Oh shit, seriously?_

 

 **Trond:** _Lol, yes. Seriously._

_Party at the kollektiv tonight_

_yeah chill_

**Mathias:** _NOT CHILL BRO SUPER FUCKING AWESOME_

_party party party let's all get wasted_

_shake it for me baby girl do it butt naked_

**Trond** _: here we go…_

 

_what_

**Mathias:** _I'm so wasted, he so wasted shout the bartender_

_Send 20 more cases_

_what_

**Mathias:** _TURN DOWN FOR WHAT_

_that’s not even the same song_

**Trond:** _Seriously Even_

_Come save me from this loser_

**Mathias:** _I MISSED YOU EVEN_

_Tonight?_

_Yeah okay I missed you too. <3_

**Mathias:** _YES_

_see you tonight <3_

**Trond:**   _:)_

 

\--

 

“So, who are these guys?” Isak asks, about ten hours later.

 

They’re on the 12, standing pressed together on the tram as they travel up towards Grefsen. Isak’s backpack, on the floor between them, clinks gently as the carriage rocks, loose cans rolling against each other. They’re going to be frothy as fuck when they come out of the bag, but neither Even nor Isak can be bothered to carry them when they don’t have to.

 

“Two guys I went to Berg with,” Even answers. “We went travelling together last year, and then when I came home they kept going.” Isak nods, and Even remembers his Instagram spree. “You’ve seen the photos, right?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Isak blushes. “So they were the guys in the pictures?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Isak nods to himself, like it’s slotting into place.

 

“Are you close?”

 

No.

 

Even’s instinctive reaction is to say no, but he isn’t sure. He did spend a year with Mathias and Trond, but… he doesn’t feel close to them, not the way he does to Isak and the gang at UiO.

 

“I guess? They know about me, so.” He shrugs. Obviously, he’d had to tell them he was bipolar, since they were going away together, but his mood those early months at Berg had probably tipped them off that something was Not Right. “But we didn’t really talk after I came home. They’re not like Magnus, or Jonas, or Mahdi.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” he says. It’s hard to articulate why it’s different—but maybe it’s the place he was in when he met them. Or maybe it’s something about Mathias and Trond themselves. “It just wasn’t the same. I was always sort of on the outside. I didn’t mind. I travelled with them but I did my own thing a lot.”

 

Isak’s silent for a moment, while the tram stops at Torshov. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, for Even, but he can tell that Isak wants to ask him something else.

 

It still makes him nervous, when Isak is nervous.

 

“There was a picture, um. From when you were away.”

 

“Yeah?” Even asks.

 

“Of you and that girl.” Isak says, looking him in the eyes now. “Who commented on my Instagram.”

 

Oh. Even’s surprised this hasn’t come up sooner.

 

“My ex. Sonja.”

 

“Is she going to be there? At the party?”

 

Even smiles, because—really? Is that what Isak’s been thinking about?

 

“No. Fuck, no, she lives in Copenhagen now. And she isn’t friends with Mathias and Trond.” Which is an understatement and a half. “She just… crashed our trip for a few days.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“We were already broken up, then,” he says, because he feels like he needs to clarify it.

 

Isak is quiet for a second.

 

_Has he been thinking about that a lot?_

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

“No,” Isak exhales. “I just want to know what to expect.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Even says. And then, because he can’t help teasing Isak at every given chance: “Save the nerves for when you meet my mother.”

 

“You want me to meet your mother?”

 

Even smiles, and ducks in to kiss him. And even though they’re on a tram—and whoops, Even had nearly forgotten about that—Isak only tenses a little bit, holding still and then leaning forward to let himself be kissed.

 

“Of course,” Even says, as he pulls away. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

 

-

 

Inside Trond’s flat, it’s just like every high school party Even ever went to. The same people, even, that he partied with at Berg. The lights are low and the music loud, and people are hooking up in the darker corners, already drunk and eager.

 

Mathias, the giant lumberjack of a man that he is, is pretty easy to spot. Trond used to joke that Mats and Even were destined to be friends, because they could always seek each other out in a room.

 

“The big question,” Mathias says, once they’ve bro-hugged in greeting. “Is have you finally ditched Sonja?”

 

Isak shoots Even a Look, and Even shrugs back.

 

“Well,” he says to Trond, trying to be tactful. “We both moved on.”

 

“Fucking hell, it’s about time. That shit was bad.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“No, really,” Mathias looks at Isak now. “Do you know Sonja? Because that was like some fucking Netflix level drama, there. Fuck.”

 

Isak shakes his head, and Even stares at his friend, trying to convey _shut the fuck up_ with just his eyes.

 

“Mathias,” Trond joins the group, passing a beer into Mathias’s waiting hands. “Shut the fuck up.”

 

Even’s about to agree, but then he stops.

 

As Even watches, Mathias softens. He leans in to languidly kiss his friend’s mouth—and fuck, is that his tongue? Next to Even, Isak is stock still. Even would say something, but he’s momentarily speechless.

 

“Hey, baby,” Mathias says as he pulls away, and Trond grins back at him.

 

“What the fuck?” Even splutters, reaching out to punch Mathias on the shoulder. “When did this happen?”

 

Trond shrugs, but the smile doesn’t drop from his face.

 

“Not long after you left us.”

 

“Yeah, Trond finally realized he wanted a piece of this.”

 

“Fuck off. I just decided to put you out of your misery.”

 

“We fucked on so many trains, Even,” Mathias crows. “It was glorious.”

 

“Oh my God, Mathias,” Trond interjects.

 

“That’s what you said then, too.”

 

“Fucking hell. That’s enough,” Trond says, but he looks horribly fond. He takes a second to even be able to tear his eyes away from Mathias, before he looks from Even to Isak.

 

“Even, who’s your friend?”

 

“Oh!” Yes, Even thinks. He gets to say it again, and—fuck, is it stupid that he’s still so excited every time? “Boys, this is my boyfriend, Isak. Isak, Trond.”

 

Trond and Mathias both practically explode into matching grins. Mathias echoes Even’s earlier punch with a leer.

 

“You didn’t say he was your boyfriend! He’s fucking hot!”

 

“Hey!” Trond jokes, but out of the corner of his eye, Even can see Isak’s surprised reaction. He should get used to it, really. He _is_ incredibly hot.

 

“What? I’m gay now, I can say that!” Mathias answers, and Trond rolls his eyes.

 

It’s kind of grossly PDA, but Even doesn’t give a shit.

 

Instead, Even looks at Isak, who can’t hide the grin on his face now. Isak looks taken aback, but like he’s trying not to laugh—and Even kind of loves it, because just a few weeks ago Isak probably would been a deer in the headlights in the face of a comment like that.

 

“I’m right here,” Isak says, but Even pretends not to hear.

 

“He is, isn’t he?” Even boasts. “Isn’t this man beautiful?”

 

Trond rolls his eyes at him, and Mathias sniggers, but Isak blooms under the praise.

 

“Shut up,” Isak grumbles. His arm snakes around Even’s waist nonetheless.

 

-

 

Mathias and Trond wander away for awhile, leaving Even and Isak to their own devices. There are so many people Even recognizes from Berg, here, but he can’t bring himself to make an effort to talk to any of them. They come and go, making small talk, and Even is happy to joke around and indulge them, but each time they leave he gladly turns back to Isak, filling him in on the latest with his group film and listening to Isak talk about the latest guilt trip texts from his dad.

 

They’ve been hanging out in Trond’s kitchen for about half an hour when the guy himself comes to find them, barely any drunker than he was when he left. For all that Mathias is a big guy, Trond has always been the one with the iron constitution.

 

“Fancy a smoke?” He asks, waving a joint in their direction.

 

Even looks at Isak.

 

It’s probably just a leftover reflex, but he checks to see if Isak is going to warn him off, or look disapproving. He’s not sure what he expects. Isak, though, just looks back, waiting to see what Even will decide.

 

 _Maybe he’s forgotten_ , Even thinks. He’d only told him in passing, about the drinking and smoking.

 

 _Or maybe he’s making Even make his own decision_.

 

As it is, Even decides that one night won’t hurt him. He hasn’t been high in weeks—not since he and Isak went to Tøyenbadet, if he really thinks about it.

 

“Let’s do this,” he says, pushing away from the kitchen counter.

 

Isak follows, and for a moment, Even thinks about grabbing his hand.

 

\--

 

“This is good shit,” Isak says, closing his eyes for a second as he exhales.

 

Trond leans across Even to take the joint back from him.

 

“Amsterdam’s finest,” he says smugly. “Yeah, like, that good underground stuff, not the tourist shit.”

 

Even elbows him in the side.

 

“You’re such a liar. This is the same greens you always get, from that girl upstairs.”

 

Trond shoves him right back, pushing Even playfully into Isak.

 

“Me, a liar?” He says. “Coming from the lying master.”

 

“Lying master?” Isak asks.

 

Even shakes his head, pursing his lips. Busted.

 

“Fuck,” Trond says. “Even, what was that one you told that bartender in Venice? About Sonja and her aluminium leg?”

 

“Oh, shit,” Even laughs. Because he does remember telling Giulio that. He’s pretty sure the guy hadn’t believed him, but he’d played along anyway.

 

“Aluminium leg?” Isak says incredulously. “What?”

 

“Shit, how did that start?” Even asks.

 

“You told him we were drinking because you had your heart broken.”

 

And it was true, in a way.

 

“Shit!” Even remembers. “And he said that was nothing, Italian men get their hearts broken all the time.”

 

“And you said not like this, because you got dumped by a girl with… a fake leg.”

 

Even grins.

 

“And she fell in love with a man who was teaching her to walk again.” He says, dramatically bringing a hand to his chest. “Fucking great story.”

 

He glances at Isak, who is shaking his head at them both in disbelief.

 

“What the fuck?” He asks. “You think he believed you?”

 

Probably not, Even thought. But he’d found it funny enough to stick around and talk to them… or, to Even, specifically.

 

Wow. That all felt so long ago.

 

“There was a whole backstory and everything,” Even explains. “She stepped on a landmine in Tjøme.”

 

“Fucking great,” Trond echoes, and reaches out to clap Even on the back.

 

Isak shakes his head at them as he takes another hit. The joint is nearly dead, now, and Isak holds it precariously between his fingers before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out under his shoe.

 

Trond’s phone vibrates, and he opens up Snapchat to see a blurry video from inside the flat. For a moment, he smiles, and Even peers over his shoulder.

 

“I have to go supervise,” Trond says, standing up. “Mathias is trying to, uh… dance. Again.”

 

He disappears with a shake of his head, and Even waves him off. Without thinking, he scoots closer to Isak on the bench, putting his arm around his shoulders. Isak leans into him, dipping his head into Even’s neck.

 

Then he snorts, like he’s remembering what was just said.

 

“Lying master, huh?” He teases, leaning back until his face is just inches away from Even’s. “Is that so?”

 

“Never to you, baby,” Even replies. He just has a second to see the smile on Isak’s face before he kisses it, a ridiculous smacking kiss that has Isak scrunching up his nose.

 

He presses in a second time, softer. Isak opens his mouth to it, invites Even’s tongue to slip in, chases it back into Even’s own mouth.

 

When they pull away, Isak’s eyes are bright.

 

“He’s nice,” he says, eventually.

 

“Who, Trond?”

 

“Both of them. Your friends are nice.”

 

“It’s because I’m so nice,” Even jokes. “It attracts other nice people.”

 

“Like me?”

 

“Hmm. Maybe.”

 

Isak looks so affronted that Even kisses him again.

 

He kisses him again and again until his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

A text from _mamma <3\. _He’d texted her on the tram about where he was headed, but she must have just seen it.

 

_When are you bringing that boy over?_

Ugh.

 

“Seriously, do you want to meet my mother?” He asks Isak.

 

Isak raises his eyebrows at the non-sequitur.

 

 “It’s just, she’s been nagging about it,” Even explains. “She wants to have dinner next week.”

 

Isak pretends to consider it for a second before he shrugs.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Are you sure?” It could just be the weed talking, Even thinks. But he wants to be sure.

 

“Yes. I’m sure.”

 

“You don’t have to. If you want to wait a bit longer, or…”

 

“No!” Isak prods him, sounding as fond as he does grumpy. “No, it’s fine. Is it… Will it be just your Mamma?”

 

“Yeah. She said she’ll make us dinner.”

 

“Okay,” Isak says, then he leans in for a kiss. “ _Meet the parents._ How badly could that go?”

 

 

-

 

They don’t stay much longer at the party, ending up wandering around looking for food in the early hours. They stumble into bed around 3:00, past a bemused looking Eskild, who is suspiciously carrying two glasses of wine back into his own room.

 

Even falls asleep pretty soon after. He’s starting to be just as comfortable in Isak’s bed as his own—and not just because his silo bed is skinny and just this side of too firm.  

 

He and Isak have just found a routine, and Even likes it. They don’t spend _every_ moment together, of course, but Even starts to feel that way. It becomes instinct for him to seek Isak out in his free time, and Isak doesn’t even see it as clingy, just welcomes him every time.

 

Late on Wednesday afternoon, Even finally finishes editing his group film, and heads over to Isak’s to find him struggling out of the door with a duffel bag of clothes. Even can only assume he's headed to the laundry room to finally wash them.

 

“Noora,” he says with a shrug, when Even raises an eyebrow at him.

 

He figures it’s slightly too domestic to help his boyfriend wash his underwear, so as Isak lugs the bag down the corridor, he slips into Isak’s room behind him.

 

“I’ll keep the bed warm,” he jokes, just to see Isak’s patented eyeroll in return.

 

Bingo. There it is.

 

“I finished my film today,” he says when Isak returns. He’s been sitting at the end of Isak’s bed,  playing Candy Crush for the last twenty minutes. “You have to watch it with me.”

 

Isak flops down on the bed next to him, pulling him backwards as he kisses him.

 

“I don’t know,” Isak says. “Is it going to be more hipster romance bullshit?”

 

Even fakes a gasp, and Isak scrunches his nose up. Even nuzzles his own against it for a moment—it’s too cute not to.

 

“Okay, okay,” Isak says. “So, are we watching it now?”

 

Even takes Isak’s hand, and guides it until Isak’s fingers are curled around Even’s jaw. He presses his thumb down against Even’s lip, dragging it down, and Even bites at it playfully, until Isak draws it away with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Or we could do something else,” Even says, wiggling his eyebrows until Isak laughs at him.

 

“What a proposition,” Isak says, dry as ever.

 

“Oh yeah?” Even asks. But Isak draws him in for a kiss anyway, and they proceed to take off each other’s clothes stupidly slowly. Even keeps getting distracted kissing the bare skin he uncovers, and Isak still hasn’t quite got the hang of taking off Even’s skinny jeans.

 

He always takes off Even’s socks last, which Even hasn’t ceased to find adorable.

 

“What do you want?” Even finally asks, once they’re naked together.

 

Isak doesn’t answer for a moment, kissing him instead.

 

They rub against each other, just revelling in the feeling of their erections straining together, and they roll around—as much as anyone can roll around in a single bed—until Even’s firmly settled on top of Isak. Isak’s hands massage handfuls of Even’s ass as he pulls him down against his cock. It feels amazing—it always does—but Isak is quieter than usual.

 

“What do you want?” Even tries again, and Isak pulls back, biting his lip.

 

“Can I try…” Isak starts, and Even shifts, feeling Isak’s racing heart against his own chest.

 

“What?” He asks, trying to focus. Isak clears his throat.

 

“With my fingers,” Isak says, and Even’s eyes widen.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

“Yes,” he says, sitting up abruptly. He fishes around in Isak’s bedside drawer for the lube—and boy, wasn’t that a fun trip to the pharmacy? Isak had practically smuggled it back into the student house, bright red after he’d bumped into Eskild outside.

 

He pulls it out with a triumphant _aha_ to find Isak shaking under him—laughing, Even realises, at his eagerness.

 

Even can’t help it. This is the first time Isak has asked for this, and Even is excited to give it to him.

 

Isak takes the tube from Even’s hands and pops the cap open, squirting it onto his fingers. He rolls it around his fingertips; maybe it’s to warm it, like he’s seen Even do, but Even thinks he’s also getting used to the feel of it. Psyching himself up for what he’s about to do.

 

“Kiss me,” Even says, when Isak lingers a second too long on the tube. He takes it out of Isak’s hands, throwing it to the floor without even clicking the cap shut. He only has a second to think about the mess it’s going to make when Isak reels him in by the neck with his dry hand, kissing Even’s throat, his collarbone, his chest, then back up to his mouth to press his soft, wet lips against Even’s.  

 

His hand drifts down Even’s back, the lightest trace against his skin. His nerves are singing with it by the time Isak’s palm settles on his ass, parts his cheeks.

 

His cock strains against Even’s. Even’s heart races, against Isak’s.

 

Isak’s finger cautiously rubs his hole, pressing in experimentally—and for a second, Even holds his breath, wants to fight the intrusion. Isak’s fingers feel wider than they look, but Even remembers that. He tries to remember: this isn’t scary. He’s done it before. He’s done it with Isak, the other way around—and that was a beautiful thing to see. Isak had bitched and moaned about it, and made him try it in the shower because of all of his fears about it “not being sanitary” or whatever, but watching him lose it, push back on his fingers… it’d been a fucking revelation.

 

Even pulls away from Isak’s kiss to look him in the eyes.

 

“Okay?” Isak asks, nervously, and Even nods. Once, then twice, then—

 

“More,” Even says, faking some bravado he doesn’t feel. “You could do one more.”

 

With two fingers, the stretch _is_ more.

 

Of course it fucking is. It’s simple maths.

 

But it’s also easier for Isak to move his fingers, now, with two of them inside of him. His moves are inelegant, but he knows what he’s looking for, and Even shivers as his fingers brush against Even’s prostate. It’s almost too overwhelming for a second, and he thinks about asking Isak to stop. The hunger building inside him scares him, a little bit. It's so good. So much, but so good.

 

But Isak is still looking into his eyes, when Even forces his open.

 

He wants to keep going.

 

“Is this right?” Isak asks, and Even could almost laugh at him.

 

“Fucking hell,” he says. His hips buck up against Isak’s as Isak’s fingers begin to work in and out of him. It’s so much. It’s so much that he could shout out, if he were the type of person to have noisy sex. He understands why people scream and groan like they can’t help themselves, although he’s never been one to do it. But now…

 

Isak doesn’t look like he’s doing much better. His face is red, and the movements of his fingers still every time his cock brushes against Even’s.  

 

It’s not enough, Even thinks. He can’t fucking get enough—neither of them can.

 

“Fuck,” Even says, struggling to get closer to Isak. He’s in his lap, practically, the backs of his thighs brushing against the front of Isak’s, but he can’t help it. He feels like if he could just get _closer_ , it’d be enough.

Distantly, he wonders if maybe he should give Isak a hand in return. Touch his dick, maybe.

 

But his hands stay locked around Isak’s shoulders. He’s failing at reciprocating, here, but he can’t concentrate on anything but Isak’s fingers.

 

“Fuck,” Isak echoes. “Oh fuck, it’s so...”

 

“Please,” Even says, before he even registers it. “Isak, fuck.”

 

“What?” Isak murmurs. His eyes are a little glazed, like he’s disorientated.

 

“More,” Even says now. “Come on.”

 

“Another finger?” Isak asks, and Even presses against him as his free hand grips tighter on Even’s ass cheek. Their cocks rub against each other for what seems a torturously long moment.

 

“Fuck me,” Even says, and Isak stills, his fingers no longer moving inside Even.

 

He can’t believe he said it.

 

Isak looks at him with terror in his eyes, but Even doesn’t take it back. That’s what he wants, in this moment—for Isak to fuck him. And Isak can say no, if he isn’t ready, but Even sure as hell is.

 

Maybe they should talk about it, but Even doesn’t want to talk right now.

 

“Fuck me,” he says anyway. “Isak—”

 

“Really?” Isak asks, and his breath is coming heavy now. “You’d really want me to?”

 

Even kisses him, then, because he can’t say it again. Maybe it’s too soon, or whatever, but in this moment, here, it’s what he wants. And he trusts Isak to make the decision for himself, too.

 

“Yes,” Isak says, quietly. “Fuck, okay, yes.”

 

He reaches into the draw again, and Even closes his eyes for a moment. He can’t believe this is actually happening. They jolt open again as he repeats it to himself. _Fuck, this is happening._ He doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

 

Isak’s hand trembles as he rolls a condom on, fumbling with it, and Even reaches out to help him.

 

“Don’t,” Isak says, shakily. “I won’t be able to—”

 

“God,” Even says. “Okay. Okay, just—”

 

Isak gets the condom on and slicks himself up, and then looks Even up and down.

 

“Like this?” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, which Even might find cute any other time. Now he just feels desperate, wanting. Isak's fingers slip back inside Even’s hole and he keens with it, gripping Isak’s shoulders tight.

  
He raises himself up until he’s hovering over Isak’s cock, and then he lowers himself down.

 

Isak’s condom-covered dick slips against his crack, brushing against his hole, and Even inhales. Fuck, even that feels good.

 

It takes Isak a couple of tries just to line up, slipping against Even’s hole and away again as they try to find the best position. It’s inelegant, less simple than Even expected, but eventually Isak’s pulling his cheeks apart with one hand, and guiding the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscle.

 

Even presses down, slightly, and—oh fuck, there it is. Isak shudders for a second there, just catching his breath, literally just centimetres of him sunk into Even. Inside him. It’s a bigger stretch than two fingers, Even can feel that already, and it makes him feel warm all over, giddy.

 

“ _Just the tip_ ,” he jokes in English, and Isak chokes out a laugh. Even’s body shakes with it, and he leans back for a moment—and oh, shit. He sinks further down onto Isak’s cock, taking more of him in.

 

They both inhale sharply, and Isak grips Even’s hips for a moment.

 

“Don’t move,” Isak grits out. “Oh, fuck, don’t move.”

 

But Even can’t help it. He’s full on shaking now, whether from the laughter or just, what the fuck, so overwhelmed, he doesn’t know. This is scary. He didn’t realize it would be, but it’s scary, to be this vulnerable.

 

It feels so huge.

 

(Literally and symbolically.)

 

He palms his aching dick and then tries to raise himself up, and Isak grips his own cock so that it doesn’t slip out again, but Even doesn’t get anywhere with it. His knees are shaking from the strain, and he can’t help pressing back down onto Isak’s cock again, his eyes rolling back in his head as he feels it against his prostate.

 

“Oh shit, no,” Isak curses, his voice strained. Before Even knows what’s happening, Isak’s gripping Even’s hips harder as his own shudder, pulling Even down further onto his cock for a few desperate thrusts as he comes with his eyes shut tight.

 

Even follows him right over the edge.

 

He comes embarrassingly hard as Isak slips out of him, basically collapsing onto Isak in a tangle of long limbs, and they gracelessly roll away from each other, breathing hard.

 

Isak’s face is so red that Even would worry, if he didn’t know what they had been doing.

 

He looks mortified, and he wouldn’t be the only one. Holy fuck. Even feels like it’s the first time he ever touched himself—he can’t blame Isak for going off like a rocket the second he got his dick in Even.

 

He doesn’t even know what to say.

 

When he came to Isak’s room, earlier, he didn’t see this happening.

 

“Um,” Isak says, after they’ve laid there in silence for a long moment. “I should go get my laundry.”

 

\--

 

Even lies there for a while, naked and dirty on Isak’s duvet. His hole feels puffy to touch, a little sore even if their sex hadn’t been particularly vigorous.

 

That definitely isn’t how it looks in porn, he thinks. But whatever it might have looked like—fuck, it was intense. It was terrifying to feel that much all at once.

 

He doesn’t know how Isak’s feeling about it, obviously, although the way he just ran out of the door seems a pretty reasonable indication of how he’s doing. Probably just as overwhelmed, Even thinks. Isak fled with his bambi legs hardly carrying him, shooting incredulous glances back Even’s way as he pulled on Even’s hoodie and some sweatpants.

 

Isak’s probably freaking out, Even thinks. They hadn’t talked about it, at all, but they just had penetrative sex for the first time. He knows it shouldn’t be a big deal—has had the talk with Eskild, even, about how _all sex is real sex_ and how _virginity is a social construct_ (thanks, Noora), but he can’t even think the word _penetrative_ without feeling full of… something. Wonder, maybe.  

 

They’ll have to talk about it, he knows. Especially if they want to do it again.

 

And Even does. Probably. Not right away, but probably.

 

Anyway: the knock on the door surprises him.

 

Even sits upright again, wincing as he does so. He’s a little nervous about what’s coming next, if he’s honest with himself. That knock—it’s more tentative than he’d expect from Isak, even after what they’d just done.

 

“Did you forget your key?” Even calls, pulling on Isak’s well-worn Jesus t-shirt from the floor, and struggling into his jeans sans-underwear. It’s just in case anyone else is around, so he figures there’s no need to hunt for his boxers. He’s pretty sure it’s just Isak with his washing, but he’s been burned by Eskild’s eyes on his nipples one too many times.

 

He flings open the door, then immediately regrets it.

 

It isn’t Isak or Eskild.

 

A thin, middle-aged man stands outside Isak’s door, nervously rubbing at his glasses. He gapes at Even for a moment, before his eyes dart to the number on the door and back again.

 

“I must have the wrong door,” he says. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

 

“Uh, right,” Even says.

 

But he has a feeling.

 

“I’m looking for Isak Valtersen,” the man continues. “Do you know which room is his?”

 

_The worst feeling._

 

“Uh, this is Isak’s room,” Even says. “He’s just… not here right now.”

 

“I see,” the man says.

 

And there’s something about it. _The way his eyes narrow, maybe—_

 

“Was he expecting you?”

 

“No.” The man’s voice is soft. Awkward, even. “He won’t answer my phone calls.”

 

He looks way too fucking familiar.

 

“I’m Isak’s father,” the man finally says. “Are you… wearing my son’s t-shirt?”

 


	12. sleep next to you (that's all I wanna do right now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leans up to kiss Even once more—but this one is chaste, just the press of his plush lips against Even’s, lingering just for a moment.
> 
> “The old Isak couldn’t have done this,” he says as he pulls away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. This took such a long time, guys, and I'm really sorry about that! I was having sort of an OMG-the-end-is-nigh crisis, so all the thanks in the world has to go to the lovely [Anne](http://annematique.tumblr.com) for helping me through it.
> 
> I'm basically going to inundate you with thanks for this chapter, because it DOES take a village, and all of the birthday love this week has put me in the best mood. Thanks, as usual, to my dearest darlingest [Immy](http://itswinetodaybutpisstomorrow.tumblr.com), for being my cheerleader numero uno; to the lovely [casdroid](http://casdroid.tumblr.com) for the enthusiasm and gender theory chats; to [scripted-mindxx](http://scripted-mindxx.tumblr.com) for giving me the best advice when I was feeling insecure last weekend; to [Marie](http://wecanjustbreathe.tumblr.com) for entrusting me with her own AMAZING fic; to [Isi](http://isisisak.tumblr.com) and [monstermonstre](http://monstermonstre.tumblr.com) and everyone else who has made me feel part of this fan community on tumblr. 
> 
> To all of you: your response to my last author's note meant so much to me and I'm so happy to be getting to know more and more of you! As ever, my Tumblr door remains open if you want to make a friend.
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! [Don't tell me if it does...]

- 

 

_Are you wearing my son’s shirt?_

_-_

 

Even stands in the doorway for a moment, dumbfounded, before he looks down at himself. And, yeah, there he is—Jesus on the cross, in the middle of Isak’s favorite t-shirt. He can’t pretend he isn’t wearing it, but he can’t think of anything to say that might make it seem… well, like anything but what it is: Even, post-coital, wearing his boyfriend’s clothes.

 

Damn.

 

For all that he and Isak have talked about his dad, lately, Even isn’t prepared for this situation. He feels his heart start to race, as he wonders what to say. He can’t out Isak to his father—he wouldn’t forgive himself for it.

 

But how does he get out of this?

 

“Um… yes, I am,” he says, hesitating over what to say next. He could say he spilled something on himself, maybe. And say Isak had gone to wash it?

 

Shit, that was barely plausible.

 

“You must be Isak’s boyfriend?” Isak’s father says. Even’s whirling brain stutters to a halt. “He said you were… tall.”

 

_What?_

Even could kill Isak, in this moment. Even fucking hates being surprised by things like this. As far as Even knew, Isak’s parents didn’t even know he liked boys, let alone… whatever the fuck conversation seems to have transpired. 

“Yes,” he says, sticking his hand out almost on autopilot. “Even.”

 

Isak’s father takes Even’s hand. The man doesn’t have the firmest handshake in the world, Even notes, but it somehow suits him—his whole awkward, uncomfortable demeanour.

 

“Terje,” Isak’s father says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“You too.”

 

“I was hoping to speak to my son,” he continues—as if it wasn’t painfully obvious. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

 

Even would love to know the answer to that question, to be honest.

 

“Uh, soon,” he say, avoiding Terje’s eyes. Isak may have neglected to tell him some things, but he was pretty clear on how he felt about his father right now. “He, uh, said he might be a while. Maybe you could come back another time?”

 

It doesn’t work. Terje frowns, stepping further into the room. Even instinctively steps back.

 

“I think I had better stay,” Terje says, looking around Isak’s messy room with concern. “Are you waiting for him?”

 

Waiting with Isak’s dad?

 

Fuck, no.

 

“Well, I was actually on my way out, Even says. “I have… a project.”

 

Terje tries and fails to look interested.

 

“Oh? What is it you study?”

 

“Media. It’s a film project.”

 

“And you’re graduating soon?”

 

“No… I’m in the first year, like Isak.”

 

“Oh. I see.”

 

An awkward silence descends upon them, and Even runs a hand through his hair. This is going spectacularly poorly, he thinks.

 

He needs to get out of here while he can.

 

“Yeah, so, I really do have to go,” he says. “It was nice meeting you.”

 

-

 

Even walks through the student village, following the signs to the laundry. Isak doesn’t pick up his phone, but Even keeps trying until finally Isak sends a text through.

 

_On my way back now  
sorry got held up by Vilde_

Even stops in his tracks for a moment. He could just text back, but he’d rather tell Isak in person. He feels weird, after what they just did, imagining texting Isak and slinking off to the silo without seeing him, checking in.

 

Like, just because Isak’s dad has shitty timing, doesn’t mean Even needs to put his own needs to one side, right?

 

He keeps walking.

 

He opens the door to the laundry just as Isak goes to push it open, and Even very nearly collides with Vilde, who’s talking a mile a minute about proper folding techniques.

 

Vilde stops dead when she sees him, looking nervously between him and Isak. Even doesn’t want to assume she knows what happened, earlier, but from the deer-in-headlights look Isak is currently sporting, he has a pretty good guess about how much she’s been told.

 

“Hi, Vilde,” he says, smiling in the hope of putting her at ease.

 

“Even! Hi!” It doesn’t seem to work. Vilde turns to Isak with a significant look, then quickly makes her excuses. “Thanks for the conversation, Isak. It’s nice to see you, Even.”

 

She hurries away, and Even and Isak watch her go, before Isak turns to Even with an unsure smile.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

“I was coming back,” Isak says. “I was just, like, folding and stuff—”

 

“It’s chill, Isak,” Even says.

 

It’s not really _chill,_ at all. Isak might have been freaking out, but Even wasn’t exactly hanging out feeling nothing about what had transpired. Still: he’s not here to argue about hat. They’ll probably have to talk about the sex, sooner rather than later, but the more pressing thing is to warn him: “Your dad is here.”

 

Isak pulls a face at him.

 

“Is that a joke?

 

“No,” Even answers. “I opened the door thinking it was you, and your dad was just standing there.”

 

Isak considers that for a second, then narrows his eyes.

 

“You’re not lying right now, are you?”

 

“No,” Even says, trying not to be irritated. This is too awkward for even him to have made up.

 

“Fuck,” Isak swears.

 

Even shrugs. _Fuck_ pretty much sums up his own reaction.

 

“He’s waiting there for you, so I thought I should warn you.”

 

“Did he look angry?”

 

_Angry?_

 

It’s not the question he would have asked, Even thinks, but he’s realizing he knows much less than he thought he did about the Valtersen father-son dynamic.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe stressed?”

 

“And he’s not leaving?”

 

“No. I told him I had to go but he said he was going to stay anyway.”

 

“Ugh. Fucking hell, this is the last thing I need.”

 

Isak sags, now, swaying towards Even like he’s barely conscious he’s doing it.

 

Even steps forwards to meet him, letting Isak rest his head against his chest. He feels more settled as he does it, like some tension he didn’t realize he was carrying melts away.

 

He reaches for the bag of clothes hanging from Isak’s shoulder, and steps back for a moment, setting it on the ground.

 

Trusting that Isak won’t balk at it, Even reaches out. Without a word, Isak walks towards him, folds himself within Even’s embrace.

 

For a long moment, he just stands there in Even’s arms, breathing slowly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, when he finally says something.

 

“What for?” Even asks.

 

“You know,” Isak says, quiet as ever. “I wanted it to be good.”

 

They’re talking about it, then, Even guesses.

 

“Baby,” Even says. “You mean the sex?” Isak nods into his shoulder. “It was better than good.”

 

“Even.”

 

“Don’t you think it was good?” He asks. He’s not actually expecting Isak to say no, though—he just wants Isak to be on the same page as him. To be as overwhelmed and happy and shaken as Even feels about the step they took.

 

“Oh my God. It was good for me.” Isak flushes, looking away. “Too good.”

 

Even smiles.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Even tells him, holding Isak’s face in both of his hands. “We both felt good, right? So there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Next time will be even better.”

 

Isak smiles a little at that, meeting Even’s eyes as he tries and fails to look appropriately sceptical.

 

“Next time?”

 

“Yeah. You don’t think there’ll be a next time?”

 

Isak finally smiles properly, a shy grin that takes over his whole face.

 

“Fuck you,” he says. “Next time is going to blow your mind.”

 

Even leans down to kiss him, then, but Isak meets him more than halfway, and for a moment Even revels in letting himself be kissed. Isak fists his hand in Even’s hair, holds him in place, and kisses him exactly how he wants, slow and sipping kisses that make Even’s toes curl.

 

It still surprises him, when Isak takes the lead like this. To think about how far they’ve come in such a short space of time, and how hard Isak is trying. It means so much to him.

 

“Your dad knew who I was,” Even says when they finally part, and he’s stopped breathing quite so heavily. He hadn’t led with that, but he can’t help but wonder about it.

 

“Yes… Is that okay?”

 

“Of course it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

 

“I texted him about you,” Isak explains. “Near mamma’s birthday.”

 

“And he was okay about it?”

 

“I guess. I didn’t care if he was okay about it… I was really angry at him.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It was okay.” Isak takes in Even’s concern. “But he was never the one I was worried about.”

 

“I don’t think I made a good impression,” Even admits. Then he smiles, a little. “At least he couldn’t tell I wasn’t wearing underwear.”

 

Isak startles at that, giving Even a heated onceover before he shoves him back, playfully.

 

“You idiot,” he says, rolling his eyes. It’s fond, though, and Even laughs, leaning in for another quick kiss.

 

“Do you want me to come back with you?” He asks, knowing what the answer will be.

 

“I don’t want to go back just yet,” Isak admits, but he picks up his bag anyway. “But I need to do this on my own.”

 

 _You’re not alone,_ Even wants to say. _You don’t have to do this on your own._

 

But instead, he lets Isak go, watching from behind as Isak walks through the student village, hood up, head high.

 

Even doesn’t know if he’s brave or foolish.

\--

 

He doesn’t see Isak again that night, getting a text around 7 that just says _dinner with dad and lea, don’t wait up._

His _are you okay_ messages are met with eye-roll emojis and brushoffs, but Isak doesn’t stop texting back. Even gets the impression that Terje isn’t getting terribly far with talking to Isak about his mother, but it’s the first real conversation they’ve had since she was moved out of the house.

 

Even’s surprised Isak even agreed to go back there at all.

 

Isak won’t let him call—too worried about waking up Lea, who has a train to catch back to their grandparents’ in Trondheim early in the morning—but they stay up late, texting into the night: Isak with anecdotes about him and his sister, back when they were young and their family wasn’t a mess; Even with stories about getting into trouble with Mikael growing up, and about his own parents before and after they’d split.

 

 _Lea wants to meet you,_ Isak types, and Even smiles at that, before reading the next part and practically choking on his own laughter.

_Dad told her you were ‘quite handsome’ wtf_

_What the fuck!?_

_Help I’m dying_

_tbh the Valtersen men have good taste tho ;)_

_shut up_

_I’m breaking up with you_

_Never say that again_

_… is that zayn_

_*crying laughter emoji*_

_seriously, though_

_do you feel any better?_

_I don’t know_

_Dad had a lot to say_

_It’s a lot to take in_

There’s a long gap in texting: so long, that for a moment Even thinks that Isak has fallen asleep. Then, just as Even turns out his light to go to bed, his screen lights up with one final message from Isak.

_Wish you were here_ , his boyfriend types—no emojis, no kisses.

_Me too <3, _Even replies, squashing the treacherous voice in his head that says _I could have been_.

 

Isak must fall asleep, then, because Isak doesn’t text back again. And not half an hour later, Even drifts off, too, into sweet but ultimately forgettable dreams.

 

-

 

“Wow, Even.”

 

The screen fades to black, making Even’s bedroom dark for a moment, and then he closes the movie player and turns to Daniel and Nina in anticipation. He’d met them for coffee in the morning—decaf, for him, of course—and they’d not let him go without inviting them over, after he’d mentioned that he’d finished his film project.

 

“Wow,” Nina says again.

 

“Yeah?” he asks. He thinks it’s good—of course he thinks it’s good, because it’s just how _he_ wanted it to be—but he was nervous to show them, nonetheless. It may just be a group project, but it’s the first film he’s made since he was at Bakka, and that feels like an entire lifetime ago now.

 

“Yeah, man. This is great,” Daniel says. “And the ending is so hopeful. Like that sort of ‘first day of the rest of your life thing.’”

 

Nina nods enthusiastically, and Even tries to hide his joy.

 

“You don’t think the editing is too—?”

 

“Choppy?” Nina asks, and Even runs a hand through his hair.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

 

“No, I think it’s perfect,” she says. “It’s really cool and unsettling.”

 

“Definitely,” Daniel adds. “But I mean, I think you could make some of the cuts even slower? So that some of the jumps are less comfortable?”

 

Even considers it, excitement blooming in his chest.

 

“What, you mean, like have half a second of darkness between some of the cuts?”

 

“Fuck, yes,” Nina breathes.

 

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” Even says. His fingers are already clicking on the file, opening up the editing software. “Especially with the music still playing over the top—”

 

“Hang on, let’s see the file,” Nina says.

 

She takes control of Even’s compute for a moment, clicking through the frames with a practised eye.

 

“Yeah, so maybe here,” she selects a dark frame and freezes it for an extra second, then clicks to another of the cuts. “Maybe here as well, what do you think?”

 

“Fuck, yeah. That’s so much better,” Even murmurs. His eyes follow the frames as they play back. “Shit, yes, that’s perfect.”

 

This is the best part. Watching the thing he made come to life.

 

“So this film was all you?” Daniel says later, once they’re done re-editing the scene transitions.

 

“Yeah,” Even says, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen. “I got stuck with some people who weren’t very… interested.”

 

“Well, you have to tell Sara it was all you,” Nina says. “You can’t let anyone else take credit for this.”

 

Hmm.

 

“I think she’ll know anyway, to be honest,” Daniel says, before Even can respond. He looks a little hesitant, now, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. He powers on nonetheless. “It seems like a pretty personal project.”

 

“Yeah,” Even answers. It wasn’t like he didn’t see that comment coming. “I guess it is.”  
  
Daniel and Nina exchange looks.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking… is it about you?” Nina asks.

 

And there it is.

 

When Even had first written the outline for the film, it had been because it was all he could think about when he sat down to write. It was either that or make a film about how miserable he was to be at UiO. What he saw as the death of his big dreams.

 

The film had become something else that he didn’t expect. Like, without Even even realizing it, he was making something that felt like art, again.

 

“I guess… Kind of?” He says. It’s hard to explain, but he wants to try. “It’s about something that happened to me. But, um. Sometimes it feels like it happened to somebody else.”

 

Daniel and Nina don’t brush the comment off, and Even’s glad about it.

 

“So you’re bipolar?” Daniel asks, and Even exhales.

 

“Yeah. I am.”

 

He’s not sure how he expects them to react, but they barely react at all—just nod, slowly, like it was the answer they were anticipating.

 

“Well, it felt really real,” Nina says. “Like, it was so raw and honest.”

 

“Seriously,” Daniel says. “This is great.”

 

“Thanks,” Even replies.

 

They play it through one more time, until it finally gets to the end. Nina presses pause, finally, with the title card frozen on the screen in front of them.

 

_Venice. Written by Even Bech Næsheim._

“You know, we’ve been talking about starting a new project once the term’s over,” Daniel says, once they’ve gathered up their jackets to leave. “Would you want to be involved?”

 

“Oh,” Even says, even as his heart leaps at the idea. He’s learned, at this point, not to try to plan things too far ahead of time. But he’d be making movies again, just like he wanted, with people who get it, and—well, he’d be an idiot to say no, wouldn’t he?

 

“Definitely,” he says, and Nina and Daniel break out into smiles. “I’d love to make something with you.”

 

\--

 

A couple of hours later, Even’s studying is interrupted by a knock on the half-open door. He spins around in his desk chair to see Magnus leaning against the doorframe, waving his phone in Even’s direction.

 

“Vilde says they’re making pizzas. You in?”

 

“Uh,” Even checks his phone. And yep, there’s Vilde’s message—and no more texts from Isak. “Sure.”

 

Magnus nods, but he doesn’t look particularly happy about it. He lingers in Even’s doorway, running a hand through his limp-looking hair.

 

“You okay?” Even asks, shutting his laptop screen.

 

Magnus makes a noncommittal sound and steps into the room, focusing on the vintage film posters now decorating his walls. Isak had helped him pick them out the week before at a stall in the Birkelunden flea market; Isak had bitched about ‘hipster shopping’ in the cold the entire time, and was totally useless in terms of recognizing the movies themselves, but unsurprisingly had a ton of opinions on the ‘coolest’ poster art.

 

“You know, we don’t have to go,” Even says. “If you’re not up to seeing Vilde.”

 

“I mean, it’s fucking awkward,” Magnus says. He turns back to face Even again “Because like, she’s still texting me? And she says she misses me but then she won’t even tell me why she ditched me.”

 

“Maybe she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Even suggests.

 

He’s pretty sure Isak knows, at this point, why Vilde did it, but he hasn’t asked him about it. He doesn’t want to have to lie to Magnus and pretend he doesn’t know.

 

Magnus huffs. “I’m totally chill, I can handle it. Even if we’re friends, like straight up, that’s it….”

 

He trails off, then shakes his head.

 

“I said she just needs to do what makes her happy, you know? Just because other people have these expectations, like, there’s no point being sad if you have an option to be happy.”

 

“Words to live by,” Even says, drily, and Magnus smiles a little.

 

“Okay, so what do I say?” he says. He pulls up a new message on his phone and starts to type. “Me and Even are busy, sorry?”

 

“Say ‘Even and I have a hot date,’” Even jokes. Magnus pulls a face.

 

“Isak would rip my balls off.”

 

“Okay, okay. Say we’ve already eaten. Done.”

 

Magnus types it out and then sends, and sighs in relief as his phone buzzes with a second message, from Mahdi and Jonas.

 

Jonas: _So have we Vilde, really sorry_

Then, in a private message to the _cathooker_ chat:

Jonas: _Ordered a bunch of food. Having a Fifa tournament in my room if you wanna join_

Even and Magnus grin to each other before they simultaneously bolt for the door.

 

 

\--

 

Four hours, five pizzas, and an ill-advised third round of beers later, the Fifa game is all but abandoned as Mahdi crows over his easy victory and Magnus comes up with a million different excuses for his truly shit performance. The four of them lounge around on Jonas’s floor, stuffed full of food, and Even has almost started to drift off when Magnus’s phone rings loudly, prompting groans from the boys.

 

He apologises as he fumbles to answer it, and Even’s mid-laugh as Magnus’s _hello_ gets his attention.

 

“Yo, Isak?”

 

Even sits up abruptly, wincing at how his stomach lurches as he does it.

 

“Haha, bro... Hi to you too. Yeah, he’s here.”

 

Even grabs for the phone, and Magnus holds it away from him.

 

“Yeah yeah. Bye.”

 

Even glares at Magnus, who shrugs right back as he hangs up.

 

“He says he’s back in his room. He’s been trying to call you.”

 

Jonas and Mahdi turn to each other with grins and _oohs_ , as Magnus imitates a whip cracking sound.

 

Even doesn’t even care. With a speedy farewell to the guys, Even hightails it out of the silo and into the night.

 

\--

 

“Hot date with Magnus, huh?” Isak says as he opens the door, wearing the softest-looking hoodie Even has ever seen. It’s old and worn—and must have been brought from his house, because Even would have stolen it before now if he’d seen it in Isak’s room before.

 

“What?” he asks, distracted.

 

“He put it up on Instagram,” Isak says, leaning up to kiss Even. “You look cute.”

 

“Mags is getting bold, apparently,” Even says, and kisses Isak again. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Isak says back, and pulls Even in for a longer kiss, pulling him back into the room as the door shuts behind them.

 

They fall backwards onto Isak’s bed—familiar territory—with an audible _oof_ , their arms wrapped around each other. Isak kisses Even’s neck, then boldly dips his hands under Even’s waistband.

 

“So how was it?” Even asks. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy where Isak’s hands are going, but he doesn’t want to just mess around and not talk. Again.

 

“I don’t know. Weird,” Isak says, just a little reluctant as his hands drift up to settle on Even’s hips.

 

“Yeah?” Even coaxes. “How was it weird?”

 

Isak exhales, then looks away from Even. They’re still wrapped up together, but Even feels Isak retreat, a little, into himself.

 

“I mean, dad still wants me to visit mamma, and we were still arguing, so that was nothing new, but… being in that house again was weird? It felt like, I don’t know, so much time had passed since I was there. But it hasn’t really been very long at all.”

 

“Hmm,” Even nods, watching the expressions pass across Isak’s face. He’s getting a little better at reading them, now: frustration, then confusion, then sadness.

 

“You know like, when you come back somewhere after a while and nothing’s changed, but it still feels different?”

 

Even feels that way about the entire city, sometimes.

 

“Well, yeah, but doesn’t that just mean that you’ve changed?”

 

Isak looks surprised at that, smiling a little to himself.

 

“Hmm. Maybe I have.”

 

He leans up to kiss Even once more—but this one is chaste, just the press of his plush lips against Even’s, lingering just for a moment.

 

“The old Isak couldn’t have done this,” he says as he pulls away.

 

“What, kissed me?”

 

“No.” Isak snorts. “I did _that_ easily enough before.” Even thinks, fleetingly, of the night they met. It’s been a while since he thought about that, but he supposes Isak is right. “I mean… lying here with you. Talking about this stuff.”

 

Even’s used to talking about feelings, by now. He’s had several psychiatrists. But—yes, Isak definitely finds it more difficult. Even appreciates that he’s trying.

 

“You can talk to me about anything,” Even says, and Isak smiles again.

 

“I know. You’re a good listener.”

 

“I like to hear you talk,” Even confesses, before he can think better of it.

 

Isak, though, just looks delighted, even as he pretends to roll his eyes at Even’s cheesiness.

 

“Hey,” Isak asks, once they’ve been laying there awhile. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d met some other way?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like, in a parallel universe, somewhere, if we met at school. Or we didn’t hook up at that first party, or if you’d gone to film school and we met like, ten years later.”

 

“Mm. I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t you think it’s interesting?”

 

“I think it’s depressing. Like maybe there’s a universe where your mamma isn’t sick. Or I’m not bipolar. And we’re the ones stuck in this universe and we have no say over any of it.”

 

“Well, I think we’re lucky. In this universe we have each other.”

 

Even doesn’t know what to say to that. But he doesn’t have to—Isak reaches for him anyway, hand curling around Even’s jaw as he traces his cheekbone with his thumb.

 

Even would like to think—if he subscribed to this, Isak’s theory of parallel universes—that they’d find each other in every universe. That every Even had an Isak and vice versa. But that’s big talk, for a relationship that’s still relatively young, and he doesn’t say it out loud.

 

“Daniel and Nina asked me to make a film with them,” he says instead, changing the subject entirely. Sleepy though he looks, Isak’s face lights up.

 

“That’s awesome! Did they see your thing already?” He asks. Then, a little belligerently, “did they see it before me?”

 

“They might have,” Even says, scrunching his face up in apology. “I would have showed it to you, but we were a little bit distracted.”

 

“Ugh,” Isak scoffs, but he doesn’t really seem upset. “What’s it about?”

 

“The new project or the old?” Even asks, because Isak has never asked about the short film before. Even’s notoriously squirrelly talking about his projects when they’re unfinished, and Isak had realized that pretty immediately.

 

“Both,” Isak murmurs, and Even shrugs.

 

“We haven’t decided about the new one,” he says. And he doesn’t hesitate, and he’s proud of himself for it. “But the group film is based on some things that happened to me, earlier this year.”

 

“It’s about you?” Isak asks, eyes widening.

 

He looks more curious, now. More serious.

 

“It’s about this spring,” Even says, slowly. “When I was in Venice, and I was having a really hard time.”

 

“Like an episode?” Isak asks, equally slow.

 

“Yes.”

 

Even doesn’t know how to say this part out loud. It would be easier for Isak to just watch the film, but he has to say it, now. It’s so much of who he is, now, even if he’s put that time in his life behind him.

 

“I’d stayed there for a while, when Trond and Mathias moved on,” he says. _With Giulio_ , he doesn’t say. _After Sonja_. “And it was a weird time, but I was drinking a lot, and everything was changing, and I don’t really know what happened.”

 

He looks Isak in the eyes, seeing the fear dawning there. He hasn’t talked much to Isak about what it feels like to have an episode. Hasn’t gone into the whens and wheres of his bipolar history. It’s a lot to spring on a person.

 

“I don’t remember why I did it,” he says. “It was a mixed episode, so—I mean, I was manic and I was depressed all at once.” _Deep breath_ , he thinks, because this is the bigger part.

 

“And I ended up on this bridge, and someone had to talk me down.”

 

Isak inhales sharply. Even tries to smile, to reassure him, but the look in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “It’s a good thing the bridges in Venice aren’t very tall.”

 

He’s ashamed of it, even now, but it’s a part of who Even is. He can’t undo it. He can’t even promise it won’t happen again. He isn’t sure how Isak will react—especially not with everything he’s got going on—but before he even has time to worry, Isak pulls him closer, pressing kisses to both his cheeks.

 

If Isak’s eyes are watery, neither of them comment on it.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Isak says, pulling back to search Even’s face. Even doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but Isak’s grip feels tighter now. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly at a loss for words.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he says a moment later, confirming Even’s assumptions.

 

Isak is flushed, eyes bright despite how tired he must still be. And despite the subject matter, he’s curled up in Even’s arms, and it’s just stuffy enough in his poorly-ventilated room that Even feels perfectly cosy and warm.

 

“You don’t need to say anything,” Even says, nuzzling in closer to Isak. “For now, all we need to do is sleep.”

 

“That’s chill?” Isak asks. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

 

Even shakes his head. He kicks off his shoes; Isak does the same, and once they’ve thrown off their jeans and turned out the lights, Even pulls the duvet up over them, snuggles in close again.

 

Even and Isak curl in to mirror each other, like parentheses, and Even whispers to him in the darkness.

 

“It’s chill,” he says, leaning in to kiss Isak in the moonlight. “I’m okay,” he promises.

 

Isak reaches for his hand, and just like that, they fall asleep—their fingers intertwined on the mattress between them.

 

 _I’m okay_ , he tells himself.

 

He thinks he might even mean it.


	13. baby, you're not lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even doesn’t want to spend another minute here, really, and Isak doesn’t ask him to.
> 
> “Let’s go home,” he says, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. What a ride.
> 
> YES, this is the last real chapter of this fic. Chapter 14, the epilogue, is considerably shorter, and you'll get that at some point in the next 24 hours, before Sesong 4 starts. I can't even think about SKAM ending right now, but I promise that this isn't an ending for me. My WIP list is currently at least three fics long. Eep.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your love and support during the writing of this fic--you all know who you are. Thank you for your comments, and for your pep talks, and for your cheerleading and your asks. Anne, Chrissy, Marie, Isi, Neena--and those of you who I only know by your tumblr handles or AO3 names. I can't wait to get to know y'all even better.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all of you, but especially to three amazing women I've met through this fic and this fandom, all of whom have brightened up my life a lot this past week or so: to Vany, Megan, and of course, the inimitable Immy, who will watch embarrassing videos of me singing and talk me down from crises of faith and send me Discourse to rant about together. I'm so so so very grateful you found me. 
> 
> This one's for you. <3

-

 

“Jesus Christ. Ouch.”

One December morning, Even awakens to the sound of Isak stumbling around the room in the half-darkness, and immediately wants to make him come back to bed. The morning light is barely seeping through Even’s curtains, and he feels soft and safe, cocooned by the still-warm sheets and the smell of Isak’s cheap deodorant.

 “Shit,” Isak says as he catches Even looking, and smiles. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Even can’t help the weird sense of déjà vu.

 “You’re not getting any better at this sneaking out thing,” Even says, smiling back. Isak rolls his eyes as he makes his way back towards the bed.

“Shut up. I’m going to buy breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Even says, teasing. “What did I do to deserve that?”

Isak leans in and kisses him.

“Hmm,” he says against Even’s lips. “Maybe I’m just that nice.”

He leans over to where Even’s black beanie is laid on his nightstand, and unceremoniously tugs it over his own head. His hair’s getting too long, and the curls around his face stay stuck out. Even pulls him in to kiss again.

“No,” Even says as he pulls away. “Stay.”

The clock on his nightstand reads 7:00, which is far too early to be awake—especially on a cold morning like this. Even feels like he’s slept for a year, though. He can’t remember the last time he slept so well, and Isak looks the same: so bright and happy, even as he twists his face into a mock grumpy scowl when Even tugs on his coat.

“Fuck breakfast,” Even says, shifting under the duvet. “Come back to bed.”

Isak groans, but Even sees the tempted look in his eyes.

He’s not above playing dirty.

Without warning, Even throws back the duvet. He braces himself for the cold, then stretches out as casually as he can fake. With an exaggerated yawn, Even oh-so-innocently cups his morning wood in his hand, fingers lazily trailing over the worn fabric of his underwear.

“Uh…”

Isak’s mouth hangs open, as his gaze sweeps the length of Even, all the way up his long legs to his smiling mouth, his laughing eyes. Even feels his skin prickle with goosebumps—he can’t tell whether it’s from the cold, or being looked at.

Even mentally congratulates himself for a second, because:

“Fuck it,” Isak says, yanking off his coat and hat, throwing first those then his hoodie, his jeans to the ground. Jackpot.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Isak says as he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling off his socks. Happy enough to prove him right, Even reaches out to tickle his sides. Isak collapses against him, protesting loudly and fighting back, but Even has the upper hand—his only ticklish parts are the backs of his knees, and Isak has yet to figure that out.

Isak squirms under him, his laughter ringing out clear as a bell as he tries to get away, and get even.

Not ten minutes later he’s gasping “Stop, stop, fuck!” Even pins him to the mattress, grinning at his boyfriend’s red face and blown pupils.

“I win,” Even says, leaning down and nudging his nose against Isak’s.

“You win,” Isak breathes. He bucks his hips up a little, seeking out some friction.

They’re both undeniably turned on, but Even can’t even focus on Isak’s cock for the minute—he’s too distracted by Isak’s nipples, standing hard and pebbled on his chest.

He leans down—slowly, no sudden movements—and swirls his tongue around one, and the startled sound Isak makes is the most gratifying thing in the world. He pulls back, feeling triumphant.

 “I win,” Even echoes, smiling. “Does that mean I get to choose?”

“That depends,” Isak says, rolling his hips again. “What are you choosing?”

Even barely has to think about it.

There are so many things he’d like to do.

“I could rim you,” he says, in the deepest voice he can muster, and Isak startles, before trying to cover his surprise.

“Um,” he says, and doesn’t say anything else. It’s not a _yes omg do it now_ sort of _um_ , so Even files that one away for later.

“Or you could fuck me again,” he says, more softly. They haven’t tried anal again since that first time, but the thought of it has lingered in the background, every time they’ve fucked since.

For Even, anyway.

Isak pauses for a second, then exhales. “I’d really like that,” he says.

This time, Even gets on his hands and knees. It might be easier, they agree, if they aren’t looking at each other—not to get worked up so fast. Might be easier to give Isak some more control in the situation.

It’s still a lot to handle.

Isak pushes in with shaky hands, and the angle isn’t quite the same—he isn’t quite glancing against Even’s prostate, and it’s nice, manageable, rather than completely and immediately overwhelming. He tries out a few shallow thrusts as Even adjusts to the feeling, then raises himself up a little and starts thrusting deeper into Even.

Once Isak bottoms out, as deep as he can get, he stops for a moment. Even breathes, and Isak breathes, and Isak lets out a shaky laugh.

“I’m inside of you,” he says, tracing the place where they’re joined. “Fucking hell, Even.”

His hips shift just slightly, and a jolt of white-hot pleasure races through Even, making his toes curl.

“Do that again,” he grits out, and Isak gets the memo.

This time it isn’t slow and hesitant. Even fists the duvet beneath him in his hands as Isak pounds into him, jerky and without rhythm but hard, and deep, and good. If Even were in a different headspace, he might marvel at the strength in Isak’s body—but Even is gone. He’s so fucking gone.

Isak thrusts into him and Even pushes back shamelessly, presenting himself to Isak.

Isak thrusts into him and Even hangs his head, repeating a mantra of _oh, oh, fuck, yes_ under his breath. _What the fuck, yes._

Isak thrusts into him and holds onto Even’s hips to hold him in place, hands warm against Even’s own heated skin. Sweat trickles down from Even’s temples into his eyes, the salt stinging, and he bites his lip so hard that he’s surprised it doesn’t bleed.

Isak keeps saying his name, full of wonder.

Isak’s cock hits Even right where he lives, good and hard and absolutely devastating, unravelling every bit of chill Even has ever tried to possess.

He loses control.

When Even comes, it’s with Isak’s hand on his aching cock, and he can’t even remember when Isak started touching it. The entire thing blends together into a mess of sensation and desperation, and Even trembles with it.

He comes, and it’s like time stops for a second. Then Isak makes a tiny hurt sound, like he’s struggling not to keep moving, and Even breathes again.

He turns his head and Isak bends forward to try to kiss him, but all they can do is pant into each other’s mouths until Even’s neck twinges and he drops his head between his shoulders again.

Isak trails his hands down Even’s sweaty back, and starts to thrust once more.

It’s enough to bring Even out of the crazed sex-haze and back into the little room. Isak hasn’t come yet, he realizes suddenly, but this—it’s not bliss, anymore. It’s just the other side of painful—or maybe that isn’t the right word. Too sensitive. Just tipping over from _too good_ and _too much_ into _no, wait, no._

“Oh fuck,” Even says. “Wait, hang on.”

“Fuck” Isak says, hips shuddering as he forces himself to still. His eyes are glazed, a sheen of sweat matting his hair to his forehead. Even forces himself to breathe out, turning his head to look at Isak.

“I don’t think I can,” Even makes a feeble hand gesture. “Be, you know. After I come.”

Isak’s eyes widen. He carefully pulls out, wincing as Even hisses.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Even turns waves him off. Isak leans back on his heels, and squeezes the base of his cock to relieve the pressure. He looks for all the world like he’s going to retreat to get himself off, but Even has other plans.

He turns them around on shaking legs, so that they’re lying facing one-another.

“Fuck, don’t be. It was fucking amazing. Just…”

Slowly, he rolls the condom off of Isak’s swollen cock, and swipes a hand through the come on his own stomach. If there’s one thing he’s learned Isak likes, it’s this.

He starts to pump Isak’s cock slowly with his come-covered hand—slower than usual, even, just to see Isak buck and squirm and lose it. They both watch it happen: the head of Isak’s cock appearing and reappearing in the tunnel of Even’s hand.

Isak gets very restless very fast. Even wants to see him go over the edge.

He can’t reach around to finger Isak, lying on his side like this, but he does crane his neck to suck on Isak’s nipples again, grazing first one then the other with his teeth, lightly pulling and humming and sucking and taking the nib between his teeth as Isak gets louder and louder—louder than he’s ever been.

When Isak comes, Even looks up at him, watching his eyes roll back as his mouth opens in a wordless gasp.

He’s sweaty and gross and he looks like he’s just had some sort of religious experience, and Even loves it.

He’s never looked more beautiful.

-

“What do you want to do today?” Even asks, when they’re finally able to catch their breaths.

“What time is it?” Isak asks.

Even shrugs, because _when does he ever have the time?_ and Isak rolls his eyes, turning over to check on his phone.

“Nearly 9:00,” he says. Something in his voice sounds odd, like he’s nervous.

“What are you thinking?”

Even can’t help but feel curious. He’s pretty sure it isn’t a sex thing. After what they just did, it’s almost impossible that Isak would still sound nervous about that.

Isak clears his throat.

“I was thinking… maybe it’s time to go and visit mamma.”

Which is definitely not what Even expects to hear. He blinks.

“Are you sure?”

“No.” Isak sighs. “But I should try harder.”

“You don’t have to, you know. Just because your dad thinks you should—”

“It’s not because of him,” Isak interrupts. Then he frowns. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit because of him.” He looks at Even, and Even brushes Isak’s hair back from his face. “But I miss her, I guess? And I need to know she’s okay.”

Even leans forward, and nuzzles his nose against his boyfriend’s. His hands continue to card through Isak’s hair.

“Okay,” he says.

“I was thinking,” Isak says, leaning into Even’s touch. “Would you come with me?”

Even’s hand stills.

“Not to meet her!” Isak says hastily, eyes wide. He frowns again. “But, I mean… you could come with me. Just so you’re there.”

Even doesn’t miss the significance of it—Isak actually asking him for something he needs. And despite the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as he imagines this “home”—which, honestly, is the sort of place he has nightmares about ending up at—he feels honored that Isak is letting him close like this.

“Okay,” he says, and Isak relaxes again, deliberately pushing his head against Even’s hand until he returns to his ministrations. “I’ll come with you, then.”

-

The bus ride is longer than Even expects, winding through the outskirts of Oslo into the countryside. He and Isak bicker amicably for the first half an hour, but Isak’s eyelids soon start to droop, with the rolling motion of the bus and the steady rain against the windows.

Even puts his headphones on and presses play. He doesn’t really register what he’s listening to—some movie soundtracks playlist on Spotify that he usually does his work to—as he closes his eyes, feels Isak’s steady breathing on his shoulder. He tries to focus on that, and the sound of the rain outside, and his own heart—trying to slow its roll by counting Isak’s exhales, focusing on the feel of the warm air Isak breathes against his neck. He hopes that it’ll ground him, but it only half works.

He feels more anxious, the closer the get. All of the joy and warmth of the morning—it feels very far away.

When the bus finally hits their stop, the skies are clear.

They alight at the edge of a small town, and walk together, hands clasped, in the unfamiliar village. Despite a few wrong turns—because Even has literally never claimed to have a good sense of direction, _Isak_ —they follow Isak’s phone’s instructions to a smart-looking one-story complex, all red-painted wood and white accents.

There are several buildings around a well-kept courtyard—and it could be any block of apartments in any village in Norway, for all Even can tell, except for how it’s set back from the town and has street signs to a visitor’s reception.

It’s… not what he was expecting.

“What is this place?” he asks, as Isak switches off the navigation on his phone.

“What do you mean?” Isak doesn’t look up.

“I thought you said she lived in like, a nursing home,” Even says. Maybe it’s not cool say it like that, but he feels unsettled. He has to admit—in his head, he was picturing like, stone walls and barred windows.

“I don’t really know much about it.”

“This just looks like flats, though?”

“I guess it is?” Isak says, now looking confused too. Not at the place—but by Even. “Like she lives here and there are people that come by and visit her and check she’s okay? And activities, and shit?”

“Right.” Even draws it out, then runs a hand through his own hair. “Huh.”

Isak looks concerned, now.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Even says—maybe too quickly. He exhales. “I guess. It’s just not what I thought it would be.”

Isak looks at him too long, like he doesn’t know what to say. Even shakes his head, trying to throw off the strange feeling that has settled over him. He tries to think about that morning, again, and recapture how he had felt.

Warm, and safe, and—dare he say it, loved.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, stepping closer to Isak. “Ignore me.”

Isak glances around, then tilts his face towards Even. “Okay?”

Even sneaks a kiss, lightning quick, and then smiles.

“Let’s just go in. I need to piss,” he says, deliberately crass.

The moment breaks, any tension in left in the air now dissipating. Isak shakes his head at him, fonder than almost anyone has ever looked at his changeable moods.

They walk in companionable silence into the reception building—they fill out a form in a small but neat office, and get granted green-edged stickers bearing the word VISITOR in bold letters. A pretty receptionist with a Danish accent checks their ID cards before pointing Isak in the direction of his mother’s room, and Even to the bathroom.

He lingers in there, splashing cold water on his face like it’ll throw off whatever weird feeling has taken over him. _Pull it together_ , he tells himself, and then curses to himself as he grasps at the empty paper towel dispenser. By the time he’s dried his face with his hoodie sleeve, Isak is shifting back and forth impatiently outside the building, texting Jonas.

“Finally,” Isak says, pushing off of the reception wall. “I’m going to go and find her.”

Even nods at him, and Isak assesses his face.

“What will you do?”

“I’ll be fine.” Even reassures him, but he secretly feels pleased at Isak’s expression.

It’s asking _are you sure_ , and _are you okay_ , but Even doesn’t feel stifled by it—just glad. He looks back, hoping his own face is talking for him too. _Thank you_. And _I can handle this._ “I’ll explore a bit. Find some food for the bus home.”

Neither of them comment on that word, _home_ , and how Even means Isak’s student bedroom, but they smile at each other for longer than they need to before they part ways.

\--

Even doesn’t know where he’s headed—just walks around the red buildings, peering in to rooms as he goes by. It’s the weirdest thing—there’s a music room, and a gym, and a building that seems to be some sort of treatment center. Looking through the windows of the little apartments, he sees ordinary people, doing ordinary things like watching television or talking together or fixing food in tiny kitchenettes.

He eventually finds a vending machine outside a building labelled ‘recreation,’ and spends a good ten minutes trying to wrestle it into submission. The damn thing swallows his change without giving him any chocolate, and no matter how many times he shakes the machine, or reaches his long arms inside from the bottom, he doesn’t have any luck.

He’s just about to kick the thing in frustration when a sunny voice startles him from behind.

“Hello! Are you here to help us?”

He turns around to see a curly-haired woman, brightly dressed, probably in her late forties. For a moment, Even thinks about every horror movie he’s ever seen: _are you here to help us?_

Even can barely help himself.

“Sorry?”

“Help? With the Christmas decorations,” the woman tuts, then places a hand on Even’s bicep. “We’re putting them up in the lounge area.”

Even looks down at the hand, then back up again, faced by the woman’s open smile. He tries to smile back.

“Uh, no. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

“You can wait and help at the same time, can’t you?” She teases.

She raises her eyebrows at him. Suddenly Even knows what he’s going to be spending his time doing today.

“Yes,” he says, wrongfooted. “Well, I suppose I can.”

She guides him inside the building, chattering away about the decoration scheme, and into a lounge area. It’s not the most cheerful-looking place—with very white walls and sofas an ugly shade of green. But there’s a television, and a stack of movies, and some pictures on the walls, and in the corner is a fake Christmas tree, surrounded by a group of women hanging ornaments.

It doesn’t take Even long to realise that he’s made a mistake. The women in the lounge are all over fifty, and look at him with undisguised curiosity and glee.

“I’ve got a tall one!” The woman who’d invited him says, her grip on his arm firm, and Even’s eyes widen as he looks around him. There are only four of them, including his captor, but with the women eyeing him he sort of feels like he’s been thrown into the lions’ den.

It helps when they hand him some decorations to put on the high branches of the tree, and he can focus on hanging them just right, rather than looking back at the women as they stare.

“What’s your damage, then?” A dark-eyed woman finally asks, her voice flat. A small woman with a pointy face and sallow skin prods her in the side.

“You have to stop asking people that,” she says, looking around the group nervously.

“Why?” The dark-eyed woman says. “Are you feeling offended?”

A third woman dismisses them both with a regal wave before turning to Even. This one wouldn’t look out of place with the West End mother set—Even recognizes her type right away.

“He’s just a visitor,” she says, pointing to the green sticker on Even’s chest. She turns to the woman who invited Even in. “Tove, did you steal someone’s guest?”

“Maybe,” Tove—Even’s erstwhile captor—shrugs. Her whole body shimmies with it, curls bouncing. “But he was just wandering around, he wasn’t doing anything.”

“Why were you wandering around?” The small woman asks, suspiciously. “What were you looking for?”

“Silje,” the others chide. But they all wait for his answer, nonetheless.

“Uh,” Even doesn’t know what to say. If he says ‘food,’ he’s slightly concerned they’ll try to take him somewhere and feed him up. He gets a sudden vivid image—something between Hansel and Gretel and the Mad Hatter’s tea party. “I was just killing some time,” he says.

It doesn’t sound very convincing to even his own ears.

“ _Right,_ ” Silje says, disbelieving.

The truth is, he _was_ sort of snooping. He can’t help it—this entire place freaks him out. The little apartments with their identical furnishings, the cheery recreation room… it could be a student village, for all anyone would know. Everything about it screams ‘nice’ and ‘calm’ and ‘community,’ but Even feels on edge.

He wants to know why these people are here, out in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere instead of at home with their families. He wants to know what the line was, the thing that happened that made the people in their lives decide that they needed to be here. Why they would choose this, or if it wasn’t a choice at all. Because for all its façade of normalcy, that’s the kicker—these people are here because they need help.

It may not be a windowless institution or a nursing home or anything that makes Even’s mind conjure up Shutter Island-style horrors, but it’s an assisted living community in the middle of nowhere, removed from the cities and the gritty vitality of the wider world. It’s muted and safe and soft, and Even doesn’t like it.

There’s a parallel universe in which Even ended up here.

Fuck, he really doesn’t like it.

“And who’s your friend visiting?” Tove asks, bringing Even back into the moment. She’s holding out a string of Christmas lights for him to take, and he does, unravelling the wires and separating out the tiny, twinkling bulbs.

“Marianne Valtersen,” Even says, without thinking, then braces himself for their reactions.

There are none—the women just hum to themselves, nodding, before Tove muses aloud.

“You’re not friends with her husband, are you? You’re far too young for that.”

“No,” Even answers, frowning. “Her son. Why?”

“Nobody else ever visits her,” the West End type says, like she’s telling him a secret. “But he’s here every other day.”

What?

“Really?” Even asks, carefully. He wonders if Isak knows that. “If he’s here so much, why doesn’t she just live with him?”

The dark-eyed woman clears her throat in clear disapproval.

“It’s not that easy,” she says. “You wouldn’t understand.” She frowns at Even, and Even looks to the ground for a moment, uncomfortable.

 _I would_ , he thinks darkly, and for a moment even thinks about saying so. But the woman continues on.

 “And we shouldn’t be gossiping about Marianne to some strange boy, anyway.”

The Christmas lights are all detangled, and he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands.  Even shifts uncomfortably, but the other women scoff, clearly dismissing her.

“Fucking hell. Have you taken your meds today Aina?” The West-Ender asks, and gets the finger in return.

“Fuck off, Cecilie,” she says, but she doesn’t seem offended.

Even feels pretty out of his depth. He runs his hand through his hair, feeling exposed.

“What’s your name, ‘strange boy?’” Tove blusters through the strange mood in the room. Perhaps she doesn’t even notice it—Even wouldn’t be surprised. “Then we won’t be strangers anymore.”

To Even’s surprise, the women around him relax again—Aina and Cecilie shrugging and passing paper ornaments back and forth between them and moving to the far wall.

“Even,” he introduces himself quietly, and Tove smiles at him.

“Even,” she says. “Pass me the lights.” She motions for him to pass them over. “Everything is prettier in the light.”

\--

Half an hour passes with the women, and Even starts to worry about Isak. The women, he can handle—he manages to tactfully withdraw to a blank wall and string garlands up high, while the women bicker and gossip behind him.

Isak, though?

Even is just afraid that it’s going badly. That maybe Marianne Valtersen is having a bad day. Maybe she’ll make her son feel guilty, or she’ll make him feel sad and ashamed of who he is, like Isak was when Even first met him.

And maybe it’ll go really well and she’ll apologise and Isak will come out to her and there’ll be rainbows and the credits will roll, but life isn’t a fucking movie, Even thinks.

As much as he wants that to happen, he knows that it probably won’t. Whatever happens will probably be uncomfortable, and hard, and he’s just got to hope like hell that it doesn’t make Isak think twice about Even and their relationship. Maybe that’s a selfish thought, but he entertains it anyway.

What if Isak’s mother reminds him of how hard it is to care about someone who is mentally ill?

Even can’t let him entertain the thought for too long, because it makes the ball of dread in the pit of his stomach grow, like a deep well within him. Being here is unsettling enough, without that. All he can do is keep pinning shiny decorations to the white walls for a bunch of people even worse off than he is himself.

At one point, a nurse comes by to remind the women that the lunch bell has gone, and Aina and Silje return to their apartments to take medication. Silje is fetched by her husband, a handsome bearded man who Even is surprised to learn lives in the community with her.

He’s left alone with Tove, who doesn’t say much, just hums Christmas tunes as she potters around the room, and re-arranges the decorations so that they hang just right. There are honestly so many ornaments in the room that Even considers telling her enough is enough—even he thinks this is too much—but he figures it wouldn’t be very well-received. He’s not sure he wants to say anything, anyway. It’s like if he doesn’t say anything, he can pretend he’s not actually here.

A knock on the door startles Even out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Isak says. His eyes look red-rimmed, but he’s smiling, his voice clear. “Some posh woman said I’d find you here.” Even smiles back, raising his eyebrows in a silent _you okay?_

Isak nods back, and Even exhales, then subtly tilts his head in the direction of Tove behind him. “Are you ready to go?” He asks.

A grin crosses Isak’s face, like he’s considering being the little shit he is and saying no. But Tove bustles past them, squeezing Even’s arm in thanks, and they’re left alone in the sad little recreation room, with it’s sad little decorations.

Even doesn’t want to spend another minute here, really, and Isak doesn’t ask him to.

“Let’s go home,” he says, instead.

-

Even and Isak don’t sleep together that night. Or—

Isak sleeps in Even’s bed, and Even tosses and turns until Isak groans and swats at his face, unconsciously. In the early hours, Even gives in. He leaves his room and just walks, walks, walks—until he’s scaling the Tøyenbadet fence again.

It all looks just as it did before. _Before_ before—like when he was a little kid, before his life became so difficult and complicated. But it’s also the same as it was when he was at Bakka, and when he was at Berg, and nearly two months ago when he was here with Isak.

This place doesn’t change. It’s sort of comforting.

The pool, hidden by heavy winter covers, would be freezing now. Even doesn’t bother testing it. He’s done it before: dipped his hand under the covers to feel the water, only to realize that the pool is empty—won’t be refilled until warmer weather comes around again.

Anyway, he’s not here to think about the water.

Today was difficult. Not a Bad Day with the capital letters, but not good, either. Even was supposed to be there for Isak, but where he wanted to be solid and supportive, he was just—shaky. Too caught up in his own head.

And he knows that Isak doesn’t blame him for that. He doesn’t even know if Isak really registered his distress, because Isak still has a lot to learn about Even and what he needs, even though he’s trying.

It’s just hard, sometimes, not to feel ashamed of who he is, and what he needs. Sometimes he feels—just a little bit darker, the way he does tonight. And sometimes there’s no huge reason for it, it’s just… this is who he is, and how he feels.

Tonight he wants to be alone in the cold and close his eyes and not worry about seeming happy or not scaring people or any of that bullshit.

Tonight it’s just Even and the stars, and his thoughts, and how there will never be as much star as there is darkness. But eventually, he opens his eyes. His thoughts slow.

He feels the breeze on his face, and it’s freezing, but it feels like peace.

Eventually his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear without even checking who it is.

“Hey baby,” he says.

“Where’d you go?” On the other end of the line, sleep hangs heavy in Isak’s voice.

“Nowhere,” Even says, and he can hear the rustling of Isak coming out from the covers on the other end. “Just needed to clear my head.”

“You want company?”

It’s accompanied by the biggest yawn, but Even knows he’d do it.

“No,” Even says. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Hmm”, Isak says, yawning. “Okay, love you.”

He hangs up on him, and Even stares at his phone for a second, because he’s pretty sure Isak didn’t mean to say that. Or, if he did, he won’t remember it in the morning.

But— _I love you._

_I love you?_

Even lies back on the diving board, his nose cold and running in the bitter night.

And he smiles.

-

Life isn’t perfect.

Even still wakes up some mornings feeling like he isn’t ready to face the day. Sometimes he has to be talked down from making wild choices, and sometimes he can’t be stopped in time. But most days he can try: he plays video games with the boys and he gets invited to coffee with the girls. Isak meets his mother and Even teases him for a full week over his attempts not to seem like a grumpy uncouth youth.

Even Skypes with Sonja and Isak follows her back on Instagram to see pictures of the dog she adopts with Aksel, because apparently she _likes dogs now, Even, she’s allowed to change her mind, isn’t she?_ He goes to Cinemateket with Daniel and Nina and watches a film that’s so bad they cry from laughing, and on the way out Even gets caught in the tiny swing door and thinks the laughter will never cease.

And Isak? Some days they do nothing but lie around in soft hoodies murmuring nothing to each other, and some days Even rides him into the mattress. Some days Even drags Isak to a film event and some days Isak bitches the entire way through, and they argue, but when the holidays begin he knows that they’ll still see each other practically every day, still miss each other when they don’t share the same bed.

They haven’t said _I love you_ properly yet, but Even has started to think it. Isak hasn’t said it again since his phone call, or even alluded to remembering it. Maybe it’s too soon, but Even has started to think about saying it every time the feeling wells up in his chest. Those three words will come sooner rather than later. He can feel it.

Even feels like he’s finally found his balance—found some peace with his past, and found the path he wants to walk between caution and control. He’s found good friends, and he’s found Isak, and—yes, he feels lucky.

Iver sits in his office chair, listening to Even recount all of this, and he can’t hide his smile. On his lap is Even’s latest checklist—there are more blank spaces than checks lately, although the checks are still frequent and present.

“What is it?” Even asks, finally noticing the expression on Iver’s face. “Something I said?”

Iver shakes his head, then takes off his glasses, rubbing them on his shirt. His eyes are very green, Even notices. He’s never noticed that before.

“Looking at your notes when we met back in August,” Iver says. “I don’t know if you remember, but you kept using the word ‘lost.’”

He did say that, then. He remembers.

He _had_ felt lost, at the time.

“I was noticing a different word a lot today,” Iver observes. “So I wondered if you still feel that way. “Lost.”

“No,” Even says.

With absolute certainty, no.

Not today, anyway.

\--

Marianne’s community isn’t the only place getting into the Christmas spirit.

A few days before the term ends, Isak and Even tumble out of bed in the late afternoon, only to find a handmade invitation on Isak’s door inviting them to a Christmas party that night. Even’s hands get covered in glitter just touching it, ergo… well, about twenty minutes later, there’s an unholy amount covering both his and Isak’s bodies.

Isak definitely had it coming, though—Even reminds him of that even as they fruitlessly try to shower the glitter off off.

By the time the evening rolls around, Isak seems to have resigned himself to showing up still sparkling.

In the end, they fit right in. The whole room is shiny and full of Christmas—but unlike the community rec room, Even feels the joy filling the entire space. The feeling of home.

Vilde has hung mistletoe all around, and Even makes a game of catching Isak underneath it whenever he can. The others laugh at him, but Even can’t bring himself to care, because they’ve made it to the end of the term— _he_ made it to the end of term—and he’s just…

He’s really grateful.

They all talk about their plans for the break, and Even feels warm inside knowing that their plans are to stay together, as much as possible. Vilde and Eva are going to stay with Noora in Madrid, and Eskild shocks them all by announcing his plans to throw a New Year’s party with his new _boyfriend_ , which prompts a round of incredulous questions. The other boys, Even knows, are going to be staying in Oslo—although they’ve been talking nonstop for the past few days about a trip to Mahdi’s girlfriend’s cabin—and Even himself intends to hang out with them and do as much filming with Daniel and Nina as he can possibly fit in.

He can’t imagine anything better.

He’s sitting on a sofa, feeling content, when Isak tumbles into his lap with a heavy _oof_ , tipsy from whatever drink Eva’s been mixing up on the counter.

He starts talking about creepy Julian, who finally got up the nerve to ask Isak for coffee, and how Isak had told him all about his _ridiculous fucking giraffe of a boyfriend, Even, are you even listening,_ and Even just laughs at him, allowing it when Isak decides that they should take a selfie to declare their relationship to all of Instagram.

Isak takes about a million photos, and Even lets him. He’s so fucking cute.

And then, as the party starts to hit a lull, everyone full of wine and food and early Christmas cheer, it happens.

Out of the corner of Even’s eye, he sees Magnus talking to Sana over by the doorway. He doesn’t think much of it, until Vilde steps up behind him, taps him on the shoulder, then points to the mistletoe on the ceiling.

Magnus stands there, frozen, until his face breaks out into a smile. He leans down, plants his hands on Vilde’s cheeks, and gathers her into a kiss as the rest of the gang breaks out into catcalls and whoops.

Even can’t help smiling.

He turns to Isak, who is rolling his eyes but has a catlike grin on his face nonetheless.

“You wanna get out of here?” Even asks, raising his eyebrows.

Magnus is still kissing Vilde, and the rest of the gang soon turn away. Magnus and Vilde are in their own world—and Even knows that feeling.

He’s right there, too.

“Always,” Isak says.

He squeezes Even's hand.

 

 


	14. no more darkened doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Minute by minute?” Even asks, and Isak ducks his head, smiling.
> 
> “As slow as you need,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the epilogue. It's short, as promised.
> 
> Gosh. Can you believe this fic is over? 
> 
> I can't, and I don't know what to say, except thank y'all for reading. This is just the beginning, really, because I'm already started on my next fic, and it's 75% down to you guys and your lovely comments. Even if I didn't get a lot last chapter, the ones I did get were so detailed and sweet that I felt absolutely overwhelmed and happy just reading them.
> 
> This one is dedicated to Immy, for being there for me since chapter one, and becoming one of the first people I want to talk to when I wake up with an idea or a stupid plot bunny. Takk. Du er jævla fantastisk. 
> 
> Alt er love, friends.

 

_ March 2017 _

 

_ - _

_ Now _

 

The lights go up and the audience claps, and Even looks over to his right to see Isak next to him, clapping so hard that his hands are turning red. Isak looks right back at him, and smiles.

“I’m so proud of you, Even.”

And behind him, Magnus reaches out to clap Even on the shoulder.

“That was amazing, man.”

To his other side, Sonja squeezes his knee, and Mikael grins his trademark goofy grin, and his parents are holding hands with identical tears in their eyes, and—

_ Even? _

_ Even? _

…

Even wakes up to find Isak huddled up next to him, unreasonably warm for a March morning. The sun is streaming through the curtains, annoyingly bright even as Even squeezes his eyes shut again, willing the sting away, and the covers are entirely bundled around Even, like he’s rolled himself up in them. Isak doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s awake, anyway, his eyes on Even’s looking clear and steady.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, as Even blinks at him.

“What time is it?”

Even’s voice is still scratchy from sleep, and he clears his throat. His head is pounding like the worst hangover.

An exhaustion hangover, perhaps.

“A little after 10:00.” Isak answers, brushing Even’s gross hair back from his face. A stubborn lock flops down onto his forehead.

“I could eat something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Even croaks, kicking ineffectively at the duvet around him. It feels stifling, too much.

But… anything to get that worried expression of of Isak’s face right now.

“Hey. You can finally make me breakfast.”

It’s a weak joke, but it has Isak laughing anyway. He leans in and kisses Even, then pulls away to search his eyes. When Even smiles, Isak smiles again.

Isak hasn’t smiled much at all, this past week, and Even knows it’s because of him.

The episode had come out of nowhere. Or at least it had felt that way. One minute he was fine—working hard to get  _ Venice  _ ready to send out to festivals, storyboarding for the new project, trying to get ahead in his classes—and the next he had Magnus and Isak battering on his door in panic because he hadn’t responded to any messages in nearly two days, and mamma had called in reinforcements. And he’d been really angry about it, although he can barely remember why, no. But some of the things he’d said to Isak when he finally opened the door, he wishes they could both forget.

It made no sense to him that he’d gotten bad again  _ after _ all the drama of the previous term had been put to bed. And when the low hit, he spent a lot of time thinking about how unfair it all was—how fucking cruel the universe was that he was so completely unable to stop himself from feeling like this, when he’d been trying so stupidly hard.

He’d been engulfed by his own shame for two days straight, thinking  _ if only he’d tried harder _ , or done more, or seen it coming—feeling so utterly worthless that he’d barely seen the point in explaining it, no matter how many times Isak said  _ how are you doing  _ or  _ what are you thinking. _

It was hard for Even, but it probably wasn’t easy to be around, either. And although he’d promised to, Even had almost been surprised when, through all of it, Isak had stayed. Even had slept in Isak’s bed, and Isak had curled himself around Even’s back and stayed strong even when Even shrugged off his hands and buried his head under the covers. He’d stayed even when all Even could talk about was how doomed they were, and how they were never going to make it in the long run—

And he’d told Even to take it  _ minute by minute _ , and he’d held Even tight, anchoring him even as he felt his most unmoored.

 

_ - _

_ Then _

There is a boy in the corner of the room wearing a red beanie hat, and Even would like to fuck him.

He’s ignoring everybody else around him to play on his phone—some game app, from the look of it—and looking up with a muted glare every time as anyone so much as knocks into him by mistake. Girls keep doing it—definitely not by mistake. But the boy doesn’t smile back at them, not really, just awkwardly shrugs and goes back to his phone like nothing has happened.

Even has been watching him for a while, just for something to do. Since the boy walked in with Vilde’s friends, and started steadily drinking, mouth grimacing with each swig of each beer bottle… Even’s eyes have been on this guy’s lips. The guy must catch him looking once or twice, because each time he licks his lips, stares back at Even’s eyes sweeping up his body.

He doesn’t really want to be here, Even has decided—and that’s good. Because Even doesn’t, either. He feels like there’s an unscratchable itch under his skin. Like he needs to get outside and feel some real air, and not this sweat-alcohol-perfume infused recycled nightmare that’s making his head pound.

Even has a joint in his pocket. It’s the last he has, for a while, but he’s getting closer and closer to not giving a fuck. He’s getting close to not giving a fuck about anything tonight, a few shots down and a coolly clear head.

So he goes after what he wants.

He tucks the joint behind his ear, and he saunters over to the boy, watching as his eyes widen and his mouth parts.

“Wanna get out of here?” Even asks.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

 

_ - _

_ Now _

The whole gang is gathered in the kitchen that evening when Even makes it out of bed, and Vilde shyly presses a bowl of buns into Even’s arms before kissing his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” She says sweetly, and the others echo her from their suspicious positions around the countertop.

Even’s heart flutters as they part to reveal a somewhat lopsided cake with his name piped on it in looping writing.

“Noora made it,” Eva says. “But Isak insisted on helping.”

Even feels his eyes crinkling as he smiles... because  _ that _ explains everything.

It’s been weeks since his birthday now—and he’d spent it under the covers. He can’t even find words to describe how it feels now, surrounded by people who love him: to have them remember, and do this for him. He kisses Noora on the cheek, and hugs every one of his friends before Magnus will let him cut the cake and share it around.

Despite Isak’s help, it’s actually pretty incredible: sugary and sweet and delicious.

“How was filming yesterday?” Jonas asks him, once they’ve demolished the thing. “How’s  _ Oslo, Actually _ ?”

“ _ Love, Oslo _ ,” Even corrects, and wrinkles his nose. “It’s okay. Good.”

“It’s not too much?” Sana asks, and Even shakes his head.

“Just tired,” he says, clearing his throat. “They asked me to film again today, but…”

“It’s chill,” Isak says, butting in. “Just take it slowly.”

“Minute by minute?” Even asks, and Isak ducks his head, smiling.

“As slow as you need,” he says.

 

_ - _

_ Then _

The boy’s name is Isak, and he’s in the bioscience program. He also has shitty taste in music, but that’s alright—he doesn’t need to know Nas’s back catalogue for Even to want to fuck him.

He hasn’t done this very much, this one night stand thing, but tonight he craves intimacy to the point of distraction—he’s pretty sure he’d bring someone home just to sleep wrapped up in, if he could. Anyway, the more he drinks, and smokes, the more he thinks that this Isak boy, with his funny grin and golden curls, is a good bet.

They don’t even really need to say much to each other. They pass Even’s joint back and forth, and Isak’s eyes get heavier and heavier, his head tilting further and further back until Even can’t take his eyes off of the pale column of his throat in the moonlight. The ever-so romantic backdrop of the silo behind them seems insignificant as they sit there on the back of a wooden bench.

With each pass of the joint, they move closer and closer. Isak has this defiant look in his eyes each time he does it—and Even doesn’t even care why, just shivers and grins and licks his lips and reciprocates, drinking Isak in as their knees finally touch, and Isak rests his warm palm on Even’s thigh over his tight jeans.

His thumb rests too close to the seam, too high, and Even is thrilled by it. This little fucking tease.

He’s so fucking beautiful Even can hardly stand it.

Even talks about nothing, spinning tall tales that he’s sure Isak isn’t even listening to, because fuck, Isak can’t stop looking at him, his eyes flickering between Even’s eyes and his lips and his heaving chest, like he’s greedy for it. Even can’t judge him, because he’s feeling the same. Like there’s a demon in his ribcage and it’s telling him to devour this boy in front of him, lose himself in this boy’s body. Isak is so close now that Even can taste his breath, sweet and strange from the jay, ghosting over his own lips.

Fuck this, he says to himself. He drops the joint to the ground and closes the gap, opening Isak’s mouth in a searing kiss as he sucks Isak’s tongue into his mouth, hungry bites and licks that make everything spin. The boy gives as good as he gets until they’re both panting, gasping for it.

“So fucking hot,” the boy says roughly, fisting his hands in Even’s t-shirt. “Where’s your room?”

 

-

_ Now _

The others leave together in a tumble of noise, to a club where Eskild’s boyfriend has promised to get them in. Magnus and Vilde are already talking under their breath about finding Vilde a girl, tonight, and Even exchanges an eye roll with Isak, because the silo is definitely out of bounds for the evening if that’s the case.

It’s cool, he thinks, that Magnus is helping Vilde to figure out her sexuality. He’s really glad they’re still together…But, honestly, he could have done without walking in on Vilde’s orgasm face in his shower, last month. He still doesn’t know how three people managed to fit in that tiny space.

Anyway, Even is glad for Vilde—and for Isak, who is no longer struggling to emote through being her number one confidante. He’s even more glad that with everyone out at the club, tonight, he’ll have time with Isak all to himself, with no distractions from well-meaning friends ‘checking in.’

Isak takes him to bed, and Even feels a stir of excitement low in his belly that hasn’t been present much, this past week.

“Are you tired?” Isak asks, and Even turns to him with a slow grin, reaching out to brush his thumb over Isak’s lips.

“Not too tired,” he says.

Isak darts his tongue out to greet Even’s fingers, and Even laughs as Isak bites down on his thumb, playful and sweet.

“Good,” Isak says, a shy smile on his lips. “Because there’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”

 

_ - _

_ Then _

It’s a blur of movement. The boy—Isak, Even tries to pin the name down in his mind—is scorching hot, his skin sweat-slick against Even’s. It feels like they’ve been rubbing off against each other for torturous hours, but it can only have been a few minutes before Even’s eyes are rolling back in his head. He feels like a ticking time bomb.

He doesn’t bother being gentle, and the boy doesn’t seem to mind. When the boy goes to his knees and sucks Even’s cock into his mouth he grips onto the boy’s shoulders, tight, and gives in to the insistent clutch of the wet heat. Strong hands urge Even’s hips forward, and he pulls off for a moment to rasp  _ fucking do it  _ before Even’s hips stutter, and he starts to fuck the boy’s face.

Even could laugh at the feeling bubbling up inside of him, the dangerous knife edge of pleasure cresting over him. When he comes—and when he lets the boy pin him to the bed, helps him to pull himself off until he paints Even’s hipbones milky white—he feels this stab of victory, heat… dizziness.

It’s a lot, all of a sudden, and he’s exhausted by it. Exhilarated, and exhausted, and—fuck. He’s so hot.

Even’s body is pouring with sweat, and he when he puts his palm to his chest, his heart is beating rapid fire. Next to him, the boy reaches out a greedy hand, his limbs enveloping Even like they’re going to spoon to sleep, and—no, Even can’t do it. It’s too hot, too much. He shrugs the boy off, until he rolls over onto his other side and curls up, the arch of his spine illuminated by the moonlight.

He looks terribly human like this, Even thinks. Beautiful, still, but human.

Even wants to pull him back into his arms. Even wants to ask him to leave. But he does neither of those things. He lies there awake for hours, damp and dirty and drained, before he finally succumbs to the darkness.

 

_ - _

_ Now _

“I love you,” Even says, as Isak lies next to him.

Isak turns to him, glowing and sated, and smiles, the way he always smiles when he hears it. They’ve both brushed their teeth together—at Isak’s insistence, because  _ you had your tongue in my ass, Even, and then you kissed me, fucking hell.  _ When Isak talks, Even can taste the toothpaste on his breath, and a part of him is thrilled by it.

“Happy birthday,” he says. “I’m sorry we’re late celebrating it.”

“This was my present?” Even asks, and Isak pinches his side, rolling his eyes. “Ouch, okay, I know.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Isak teases, but his eyes are soft. He wraps his arm around Even’s waist, and shuffles closer until his nose is level with Even’s nose.

He could sleep like this, Even knows. He’s done it before.

“I am lucky,” Even says back, reaching out and nuzzling Isak’s nose with his own.

There are a hundred things he could say. Things like  _ I don’t deserve this  _ or  _ you’re not so lucky  _ or  _ one day you’ll get sick of this, of me.  _ But Even says none of them, because right now is not the time, and right now Even is getting better and he’s trying not to let the dark thoughts beat back the light.

“I love you,” Even says again, because he can’t ever say it enough. Even turns off the lamp, letting the sound of Isak’s breathing lull him back to sleep.

He smiles.

Right now, hope is winning out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [towonderland72](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/).


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